“Oh, my friend, I wouldn’t do that,” cried Helsing, darting after him. “The queen is--well, very much engaged. She won’t like to be troubled.” Rischenheim took no notice of him, but knocked loudly. The door was opened, and he told the butler to carry his name to the queen and beg a moment’s speech with her. Helsing stood in perplexity on the step. The crowd was delighted with the coming of these great folk and showed no sign of dispersing. Anton von Strofzin did not reappear. Rischenheim edged himself inside the doorway and stood on the threshold of the hall. There he heard voices proceeding from the sitting-room on the left. He recognized the queen’s, my wife’s, and Anton’s. Then came the butler’s, saying, “I will inform the count of your Majesty’s wishes.” The door of the room opened; the butler appeared, and immediately behind him Anton von Strofzin and Bernenstein. Bernenstein had the young fellow by the arm, and hurried him through the hall. They passed the butler, who made way for them, and came to where Rischenheim stood. “We meet again,” said Rischenheim with a bow. The chancellor rubbed his hands in nervous perturbation. The butler stepped up and delivered his message: the queen regretted her inability to receive the count. Rischenheim nodded, and, standing so that the door could not be shut, asked Bernenstein whether he knew where the king was. Now Bernenstein was most anxious to get the pair of them away and the door shut, but he dared show no eagerness. “Do you want another interview with the king already?” he asked with a smile. “The last was so pleasant, then?” Rischenheim took no notice of the taunt, but observed sarcastically: “There’s a strange difficulty in finding our good king. The chancellor here doesn’t know where he is, or at least he won’t answer my questions.” “Possibly the king has his reasons for not wishing to be disturbed,” suggested Bernenstein. “It’s very possible,” retorted Rischenheim significantly. “Meanwhile, my dear count, I shall take it as a personal favor if you’ll move out of the doorway.” “Do I incommode you by standing here?” answered the count. “Infinitely, my lord,” answered Bernenstein stiffly. “Hallo, Bernenstein, what’s the matter?” cried Anton, seeing that their tones and glances had grown angry. The crowd also had noticed the raised voices and hostile manner of the disputants, and began to gather round in a more compact group. Suddenly a voice came from inside the hall: it was distinct and loud, yet not without a touch of huskiness. The sound of it hushed the rising quarrel and silenced the crowd into expectant stillness. Bernenstein looked aghast, Rischenheim nervous yet triumphant, Anton amused and gratified. “The king!” he cried, and burst into a laugh. “You’ve drawn him, Rischenheim!”