“Why, there again, that is one of the symptoms, Ernest. You are an Astolf, too, poor child, your mother forgets that. But you must have these other things as well. The crown is not enough.”
And with the excitement mounting in his brain, the King tore off collar and robe and sword-belt, and thrust them almost by force upon the resisting boy. He finished by placing the sceptre in his hand, and then knelt down upon one knee before him.
“Hail, your Majesty! Now go and show your subjects their new King!”
“Max, Cousin Max, I feel ill; something is the matter in my head. Am I going mad?”
“Mad? Why not, Ernest? We are all mad, we Astolfs. It is in the blood. We inherit it with our kingdom. My father died mad, so did yours. What matter; they have not found you out yet, as they did me. Hide it, Ernest, be cunning, cringe to that old fox Von Sigismark, marry his vain daughter, and he will never pull you down.”
The boy gave a wild laugh.
“Gertrude! I hate her! They shall never make me marry her. I would rather go mad than do that.”
Maximilian laughed too, and clapped his hands.
“It works, it works!” he cried frantically. “The poison in the crown works, I knew it would!”
Suddenly the wildness left him, he crouched down shuddering, and raised a finger to his lips.