“A man has shot the king,” said I, in bald, stupid explanation. All at once I found James, Mr. Rassendyll’s servant, by me. “I have sent for doctors, my lord,” he said. “Come, let us carry him in.” He, Sapt and I lifted Rudolf and bore him across the gravel terrace and into the little saloon. We passed the queen. She was leaning on Rischenheim’s arm, and held my wife’s hand. We laid Rudolf down on a couch. Outside I heard Bernenstein say, “Pick up that fellow and carry him somewhere out of sight.” Then he also came in, followed by a crowd. He sent them all to the door, and we were left alone, waiting for the surgeon. The queen came up, Rischenheim still supporting her. “Rudolf! Rudolf!” she whispered, very softly. He opened his eyes, and his lips bent in a smile. She flung herself on her knees and kissed his hand passionately. “The surgeon will be here directly,” said I. Rudolf’s eyes had been on the queen. As I spoke he looked up at me, smiled again, and shook his head. I turned away. When the surgeon came Sapt and I assisted him in his examination. The queen had been led away, and we were alone. The examination was very short. Then we carried Rudolf to a bed; the nearest chanced to be in Bernenstein’s room; there we laid him, and there all that could be done for him was done. All this time we had asked no questions of the surgeon, and he had given no information. We knew too well to ask: we had all seen men die before now, and the look on the face was familiar to us. Two or three more doctors, the most eminent in Strelsau, came now, having been hastily summoned. It was their right to be called; but, for all the good they were, they might have been left to sleep the night out in their beds. They drew together in a little group at the end of the room and talked for a few minutes in low tones. James lifted his master’s head and gave him a drink of water. Rudolf swallowed it with difficulty. Then I saw him feebly press James’s hand, for the little man’s face was full of sorrow. As his master smiled the servant mustered a smile in answer. I crossed over to the doctors. “Well, gentlemen?” I asked. They looked at one another, then the greatest of them said gravely: “The king may live an hour, Count Fritz. Should you not send for a priest?” I went straight back to Rudolf Rassendyll. His eyes greeted me and questioned me. He was a man, and I played no silly tricks with him. I bent down and said: “An hour, they think, Rudolf.” He made one restless movement, whether of pain or protest I do not know. Then he spoke, very low, slowly, and with difficulty. “Then they can go,” he said; and when I spoke of a priest he shook his head.