“Well, I will try again; but I warn you it will be useless.”
He again went inside. After a somewhat longer absence he came back, and said stolidly—
“His Majesty cannot see you now. You can come later in the day.”
“I will not wait. Go back, and tell his Majesty that one hour is worth his kingdom.”
Karl withdrew, shaking in every limb, and Johann waited, breathing hard, and with the sweat breaking out on his forehead.
When Karl came back this time he was no longer alone. Auguste Bernal accompanied him, looking pale and concerned.
The composer drew Johann aside, and whispered in his ear—
“Herr Mark, I implore you not to come in to the King just now. He is extremely ill, so ill in fact that I fear the least excitement might produce a terrible paroxysm. You understand. I dare not let this be known to a soul except yourself.”
Johann’s face became ghastly as he listened. He searched the other’s face as if he would read his very heart; but finally he bowed his head and went away, with his limbs trembling beneath him.
Hardly had the sound of his footsteps died away when Maximilian’s voice was heard from inside, sounding calm as usual—