“Well, they none of them did what they wanted. That’s what happened, dear cousin.” Rischenheim was staring at him now with wide-opened eyes. Rupert smiled down on him composedly. “Because, you see,” he added, “Heaven helped me. So that, my dear cousin, the dog will bite no more, and the forester will stab no more. Surely the country is well rid of them?” A silence followed. Then Rischenheim, leaning forward, said in a low whisper, as though afraid to hear his own question: “And the king?” “The king? Well, the king will shoot no more.” For a moment Rischenheim, still leaning forward, gazed at his cousin. Then he sank slowly back into his chair. “My God!” he murmured: “my God!” “The king was a fool,” said Rupert. “Come, I’ll tell you a little more about it.” He drew a chair up and seated himself in it. While he talked Rischenheim seemed hardly to listen. The story gained in effect from the contrast of Rupert’s airy telling; his companion’s pale face and twitching hands tickled his fancy to more shameless jesting. But when he had finished, he gave a pull to his small smartly-curled moustache and said with a sudden gravity: “After all, though, it’s a serious matter.” Rischenheim was appalled at the issue. His cousin’s influence had been strong enough to lead him into the affair of the letter; he was aghast to think how Rupert’s reckless dare-deviltry had led on from stage to stage till the death of a king seemed but an incident in his schemes. He sprang suddenly to his feet, crying: “But we must fly--we must fly!” “No, we needn’t fly. Perhaps we’d better go, but we needn’t fly.” “But when it becomes known?” He broke off and then cried: “Why did you tell me? Why did you come back here?” “Well, I told you because it was interesting, and I came back here because I had no money to go elsewhere.” “I would have sent money.” “I find that I get more when I ask in person. Besides, is everything finished?” “I’ll have no more to do with it.” “Ah, my dear cousin, you despond too soon. The good king has unhappily gone from us, but we still have our dear queen. We have also, by the kindness of Heaven, our dear queen’s letter.” “I’ll have no more to do with it.” “Your neck feeling--?” Rupert delicately imitated the putting of a noose about a man’s throat. Rischenheim rose suddenly and flung the window open wide. “I’m suffocated,” he muttered with a sullen frown, avoiding Rupert’s eyes. “Where’s Rudolf Rassendyll?” asked Rupert. “Have you heard of him?” “No, I don’t know where he is.” “We must find that out, I think.” Rischenheim turned abruptly on him. “I had no hand in this thing,” he said, “and I’ll have no more to do with it. I was not there. What did I know of the king being there? I’m not guilty of it: on my soul, I know nothing of it.” “That’s all very true,” nodded Rupert. “Rupert,” cried he, “let me go, let me alone. If you want money, I’ll give it to you. For God’s sake take it, and get out of Strelsau!”