“His beard, my dear Count.” Then, after thanking Heaven it was gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, “The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is there for breakfast?” And he had the chef out of his bed and--“But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here chattering. He’s waiting most eagerly for you. Come along.” And Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count’s, walked him rapidly into the castle. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled. He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being conducted to the king’s presence. “Breakfast is ordered for nine,” said Bernenstein, “but he wants to see you before. He has something important to say; and you perhaps have the same?” “I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature.” “Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don’t ask any questions, my dear Count.” “Shall I find the king alone?” asked Rischenheim nervously. “I don’t think you’ll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I think,” answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air. They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused. “I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me,” he said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king would hear him. “I’ll open the door and announce you. Pray keep him in a good temper, for all our sakes.” And he flung the door open, saying, “Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor to wait on your Majesty.” With this he shut the door promptly, and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it. The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains. “I’m delighted to see you, my lord,” said the king.