"He didn't tell me," she answered, "and I didn't think of it
while he spoke to me."
"Of what then did he speak, madam?"
"Only of his love--of nothing but his love, Fritz," she answered.
Well, I take it that when a man comes to die, love is more to him
than a kingdom: it may be, if we could see truly, that it is more
to him even while he lives.
"Of nothing but his great love for me, Fritz," she said again.
"And my love brought him to his death."
"He wouldn't have had it otherwise," said I.
"No," she whispered; and she leant over the parapet of the
gallery, stretching out her arms to him. But he lay still and
quiet, not hearing and not heeding what she murmured, "My king!
my king!" It was even as it had been in the dream.
That night James, the servant, took leave of his dead master and
of us. He carried to England by word of mouth--for we dared write
nothing down--the truth concerning the King of Ruritania and Mr.
Rassendyll. It was to be told to the Earl of Burlesdon, Rudolf's
brother, under a pledge of secrecy; and to this day the earl is
the only man besides ourselves who knows the story. His errand
done, James returned in order to enter the queen's service, in
which he still is; and he told us that when Lord Burlesdon had
heard the story he sat silent for a great while, and then said:
"He did well.
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