A moment’s silence followed the king’s words. Sapt looked full at Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might, they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray Mr. Rassendyll’s presence. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent. “Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new,” asked the king impatiently. Again Rischenheim sat silent. “Are you dumb, my lord?” cried the king most impatiently. “It--it is only what you call the old story, sire.” “Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining an audience of me for any such purpose,” said the king. “You knew my decision, and your cousin knows it.” Thus speaking, the king rose; Sapt’s revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also coughed. “My dear Rischenheim,” pursued the king more kindly, “I can allow for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to me.” Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in acknowledgment of the king’s rebuke. “Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give me your arm.” Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim, goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing, moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt’s revolver was at his ear. In the passage the king stopped. “What are they doing in there?” he asked, hearing the noise of the quick movements. “I don’t know, sire,” said Bernenstein, and he took a step forward. “No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you’re pulling me along!” “A thousand pardons, sire.” “I hear nothing more now.” And there was nothing to hear, for the two now stood dead silent inside the door. “Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?” And Bernenstein took another step. “You’re determined I shall,” said the king with a laugh, and he let the young officer lead him away. Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in hand. “Till you get to heaven, my lord,” said the constable, “you’ll never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had opened the door, I’d have shot you through the head.” As he spoke there came a knock at the door.