It was worse than I dreamt: not two or three people, but all that crowd were victims of the mistake; all of them had heard that the king was in Strelsau--ay, and had seen him. “Where is he? Where is he?” I asked, and followed her hastily to the room. The queen and Rudolf were standing side by side. What I have told from Helga’s description had just passed between them. Rudolf ran to meet me. “Is all well?” he asked eagerly. I forgot the queen’s presence and paid no sign of respect to her. I caught Rudolf by the arm and cried to him: “Do they take you for the king?” “Yes,” he said. “Heavens, man, don’t look so white! We shall manage it. I can be gone by to-night.” “Gone? How will that help, since they believe you to be the king?” “You can keep it from the king,” he urged. “I couldn’t help it. I can settle with Rupert and disappear.” The three were standing round me, surprised at my great and terrible agitation. Looking back now, I wonder that I could speak to them at all. Rudolf tried again to reassure me. He little knew the cause of what he saw. “It won’t take long to settle affairs with Rupert,” said he. “And we must have the letter, or it will get to the king after all.” “The king will never see the letter,” I blurted out, as I sank back in a chair. They said nothing. I looked round on their faces. I had a strange feeling of helplessness, and seemed to be able to do nothing but throw the truth at them in blunt plainness. Let them make what they could of it, I could make nothing. “The king will never see the letter,” I repeated. “Rupert himself has insured that.” “What do you mean? You’ve not met Rupert? You’ve not got the letter?” “No, no; but the king can never read it.” Then Rudolf seized me by the shoulder and fairly shook me; indeed I must have seemed like a man in a dream or a torpor. “Why not, man; why not?” he asked in urgent low tones. Again I looked at them, but somehow this time my eyes were attracted and held by the queen’s face. I believe that she was the first to catch a hint of the tidings I brought. Her lips were parted, and her gaze eagerly strained upon me. I rubbed my hand across my forehead, and, looking up stupidly at her, I said: “He never can see the letter. He’s dead.” There was a little scream from Helga; Rudolf neither spoke nor moved; the queen continued to gaze at me in motionless wonder and horror. “Rupert killed him,” said I. “The boar-hound attacked Rupert; then Herbert and the king attacked him; and he killed them all. Yes, the king is dead. He’s dead.”