SOPHY OF KRAVONIA
sibly, unless the Countess herself and she dared not. In his present mood the King would not accept the plea of her dignity; against it he would set the indulgence due to a sick man's rebellious fancies; could she, for her dignity's sake, deny him what would make him sleep?
He looked at her; something in her face appeared to strike him as strange. A sort of quiver ran through his body; he seemed to pull himself together with an effort; as he spoke to her, his voice sounded faint and ever so slightly blurred.
"You've heard Lepage, and I know that you'll speak the truth to me on your oath—the truth about the thing nearest to the heart of a dying man—nearest to the heart of your dying husband. You wouldn't lie on oath to a dying man, your husband and your King. For I am dying. You have years still; but they'll end. You believe that some day you and I will stand together before the Throne. As you shall answer to Heaven in that day, is this true? Was it in your heart, and in the heart of these men, to keep my son, the heir of my House, from his throne? Is it true? As you shall answer to God for your soul, is there any truth in it?"
The woman went gray in the face—a sheet of gray paper seemed drawn over her cheeks; her narrow lips showed a pale red streak across it. Her prayers those laborious, ingenious, plausible prayers—helped her nothing here.
"I protest! At this time, sir! The Countess will be upset!"
Stenovics had been driven to this; he feared greatly. Not a soul heeded him; every eye now was on the woman. She struggled she struggled to lie; she struggled to do what she believed would bring per-
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