He did not quite reach
the impudence of sending my would-be assassins, but he sent the other
three of his famous Six--the three Ruritanian gentlemen--Lauengram,
Krafstein, and Rupert Hentzau. A fine, strapping trio they were,
splendidly horsed and admirably equipped. Young Rupert, who looked
a dare-devil, and could not have been more than twenty-two or
twenty-three, took the lead, and made us the neatest speech, wherein
my devoted subject and loving brother Michael of Strelsau, prayed me to
pardon him for not paying his addresses in person, and, further, for not
putting his Castle at my disposal; the reason for both of these apparent
derelictions being that he and several of his servants lay sick of
scarlet fever, and were in a very sad, and also a very infectious state.
So declared young Rupert with an insolent smile on his curling upper lip
and a toss of his thick hair--he was a handsome villain, and the gossip
ran that many a lady had troubled her heart for him already.
"If my brother has scarlet fever," said I, "he is nearer my complexion
than he is wont to be, my lord. I trust he does not suffer?"
"He is able to attend to his affairs, sire."
"I hope all beneath your roof are not sick. What of my good friends, De
Gautet, Bersonin, and Detchard? I heard the last had suffered a hurt.
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