But the blow never reached its destination, for a woman, closely veiled in black, suddenly threw herself swiftly and adroitly between the King’s body and the descending blade, shielding his breast with both her outstretched arms. The dagger struck her violently, piercing her flesh through the upper part of her right shoulder, and under the sheer force of the blow, she fell senseless. The whole incident took place in less time than it could be breathlessly told,--and even as she who had risked her life to save the King’s, sank bleeding to the ground, the police seized the assassin red-handed in his mad and criminal act, and wrenched the murderous weapon from his hand. He was a mere lad of eighteen or twenty, and seemed dazed, submitting to be bound and handcuffed without a word. The King, perfectly tranquil and unhurt, bared his head to the wild cries and hysterical cheering of the excited spectators to whom his narrow escape from death appeared a kind of miracle, moving them to frantic paroxysms of passionate enthusiasm, and then bent anxiously down over the prostrate form of his rescuer, endeavouring himself to raise her from the ground. A hundred hands at once proffered assistance;--Sir Roger de Launay, pale to the lips with the shock of sick horror he had experienced at what might so easily have been a national catastrophe, assisted the police in forming a strong cordon round the person of his beloved Royal master, in order to guard him against any further possible attack,--and Professor von Glauben, obeying the King’s signal, knelt down by the unconscious woman’s side to examine the extent of her injury. Gently he turned back the close folds of her enveloping veil,--then gave a little start and cry: “Gott in Himmel!” And he hastily drew down the veil again as the King approached with the question-- “Is she dangerously hurt?” “No, Sir!--I think not--I hope not--but--!” And the Professor’s eyes looked volumes of suggestion. Catching his expression, the King drew still nearer. “Uncover her face,--give her air!” he commanded. With a perplexed side-glance at Sir Roger de Launay, the Professor obeyed,--and the sunshine fell full on the white calm features and closed eyelids of “the woman known as Lotys.” Her black dress was darkly stained and soaked with oozing blood--and the deep dull gold of her hair was touched here and there with the same crimson hue;--but there was a smile on her lips, and her face was as fair and placid as though it had been smoothed out of all pain and trouble by the restful touch of Death. Silently, and with a perfectly inscrutable demeanour, the King surveyed her for a moment. Then, raising his plumed hat with grave grace and courtesy, he looked on all those who stood about him, soldiery, police and spectators. “Does anyone here present know this lady?” he demanded. A crowd of eager heads were pushed forward, and then a low murmur began, which deepened into a steady roar of delighted acclamation.