I know the look of it. He'll not move for six or
seven hours yet."
"But the coronation!" I cried in horror.
Fritz shrugged his shoulders, as I began to see was his habit on most
occasions.
"We must send word that he's ill," he said.
"I suppose so," said I.
Old Sapt, who seemed as fresh as a daisy, had lit his pipe and was
puffing hard at it.
"If he's not crowned today," said he, "I'll lay a crown he's never
crowned."
"But heavens, why?"
"The whole nation's there to meet him; half the army--ay, and Black
Michael at the head. Shall we send word that the King's drunk?"
"That he's ill," said I, in correction.
"Ill!" echoed Sapt, with a scornful laugh. "They know his illnesses too
well. He's been 'ill' before!"
"Well, we must chance what they think," said Fritz helplessly. "I'll
carry the news and make the best of it."
Sapt raised his hand.
"Tell me," said he. "Do you think the King was drugged?"
"I do," said I.
"And who drugged him?"
"That damned hound, Black Michael," said Fritz between his teeth.
"Ay," said Sapt, "that he might not come to be crowned. Rassendyll here
doesn't know our pretty Michael. What think you, Fritz, has Michael no
king ready? Has half Strelsau no other candidate? As God's alive, man
the throne's lost if the King show himself not in Strelsau today.
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