The queen, looking still in Rudolf’s face, and forgetful now, as it seemed, of the dream that had so terrified her, took no notice of what I said, but urged again: “You’ll come, Rudolf?” “Yes, once, my queen,” and with a last kiss of her hand he was gone. The queen stood for yet another moment where she was, still and almost rigid. Then suddenly she walked or stumbled to where my wife sat, and, flinging herself on her knees, hid her face in Helga’s lap; I heard her sobs break out fast and tumultuously. Helga looked up at me, the tears streaming down her cheeks. I turned and went out. Perhaps Helga could comfort her; I prayed that God in His pity might send her comfort, although she for her sin’s sake dared not ask it of Him. Poor soul! I hope there may be nothing worse scored to my account. CHAPTER XV. A PASTIME FOR COLONEL SAPT THE Constable of Zenda and James, Mr. Rassendyll’s servant, sat at breakfast in the hunting-lodge. They were in the small room which was ordinarily used as the bedroom of the gentleman in attendance on the king: they chose it now because it commanded a view of the approach. The door of the house was securely fastened; they were prepared to refuse admission; in case refusal was impossible, the preparations for concealing the king’s body and that of his huntsman Herbert were complete. Inquirers would be told that the king had ridden out with his huntsman at daybreak, promising to return in the evening but not stating where he was going; Sapt was under orders to await his return, and James was expecting instructions from his master the Count of Tarlenheim. Thus armed against discovery, they looked for news from me which should determine their future action. Meanwhile there was an interval of enforced idleness. Sapt, his meal finished, puffed away at his great pipe; James, after much pressure, had consented to light a small black clay, and sat at his ease with his legs stretched before him. His brows were knit, and a curious half-smile played about his mouth. “What may you be thinking about, friend James?” asked the constable between two puffs. He had taken a fancy to the alert, ready little fellow. James smoked for a moment, and then took his pipe from his mouth. “I was thinking, sir, that since the king is dead--” He paused. “The king is no doubt dead, poor fellow,” said Sapt, nodding. “That since he’s certainly dead, and since my master, Mr. Rassendyll, is alive--” “So far as we know, James,” Sapt reminded him. “Why, yes, sir, so far as we know. Since, then, Mr. Rassendyll is alive and the king is dead, I was thinking that it was a great pity, sir, that my master can’t take his place and be king.” James looked across at the constable with an air of a man who offers a respectful suggestion. “A remarkable thought, James,” observed the constable with a grin. “You don’t agree with me, sir?” asked James deprecatingly.