HIS MAJESTY DIES TOMORROW
Stafnitz suddenly lowered his eyes from the ceiling and looked at the gesticulating little man with a smile.
"Such imagination in the servants' hall!" he murmured half under his breath.
The King neither rebuked his levity nor endorsed the insinuated satire. He took no notice at all. His eyes were fixed on his still trembling hands.
Stenovics spoke in a calm, smooth voice. "Absolutely, sir, I believe the man's honest!" he said, with an inflection of good-humored surprise. "One sees how he got the idea! I'm sure he's genuinely devoted to your Majesty, and to the Prince—as we all are. He sees something going on which he doesn't understand; he knows something more is going on that he's ignorant of. He knows the unfortunate condition of your Majesty's health. He's like a nurse—forgive me—in charge of a sick child; he thinks everybody but himself has designs on his charge. It's really natural, however absurd—but it surely makes the precaution I suggested even more necessary? If he went about spreading a tale like this!"
The line was clever—cleverer far than the Countess's rage, cleverer than Stafnitz's airily bitter sneer. But of it, too, the King took no notice. Lepage took no more than lay in a very scornful smile. He leaned down towards the motionless, dull-faced King, and said in his ear:
"They wanted him to go, yes! Did they want him to come back again, sir?" He bent a little lower, and almost whispered: "How long would his journey have taken, sir? How long would it have taken him to get back if—in case of need?" One more question he did not ask in words; but it was plain enough
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