“I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am,” said the colonel. The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed himself at the back of the king’s chair, and Rischenheim saw the muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind his Majesty’s right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most significant gaze. “You’re eating nothing,” said the king. “I hope you’re not indisposed?” “I am a little upset, sire,” stammered Rischenheim, and truly enough. “Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I’m hungry.” Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient. “I don’t understand,” said he testily, and he pushed his chair back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver behind his back. “Sire--” cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant von Bernenstein interrupted him. “Tell it me all over again,” said the king. Rischenheim did as he was bid. “Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?” and he turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back again. “Perfectly, sire,” said Colonel Sapt. “I understand all the count wishes to convey to your Majesty.” “Well, I understand about half,” said the king with a laugh. “But perhaps that’ll be enough.” “I think quite enough, sire,” answered Sapt with a smile. The important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter of business. “Now, what did you wish to say to me?” he asked, with a weary air. The dogs had been more interesting. Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place; Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance. “Your pardon, sire,” said he, “but we are not alone.” The king lifted his eyebrows. “Is the business so private?” he asked. “I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone,” pleaded the count. Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over the king’s shoulder, and said with a sneer: “Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my poor ears, it seems.” The king flushed red. “Is that your business, my lord?” he asked Rischenheim sternly. “Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--” “It is the old plea?” interrupted the king. “He wants to come back? Is that all, or is there anything else?”