As the King finished speaking, Bernal felt a sudden shock. Still gazing into the depths of those flaming eyes, he had become aware by some subtle instinct that the man lurking in the shadow knew that he was detected. There was only one moment’s more breathing-time, till the assassin should learn that this knowledge in turn had been discovered by his observer.
Trembling under the imminence of the peril, Bernal felt irritated at having to reply to the King, as a man racked by some torturing pain resents having to respond to the commonplace observations of those around him.
“I never talk like Von Sigismark. I simply meant that if there were no way of avoiding it, you should submit with as much grace as possible.”
Maximilian smiled at the peevishness of his friend’s tone.
“You are a Job’s comforter, Auguste. If you say much more I shall make you my Chancellor; so be careful.”
“Ah!”
The crisis had come. A flash of the eyes which he had been watching with such feverish anxiety, convinced Bernal that the last stage had been arrived at. The enemy had already learned that Bernal had detected him. He now knew that Bernal was aware of this.
The fence of eyes was over. The two were as much face to face as if both were out in the middle of the apartment. Bernal set his teeth together and drew back a step, while Johann sprang to his feet, throwing down the shrub which had protected him, and levelled his pistol, at the distance of four paces, at the King’s breast.
“If either of you moves or makes the least cry, I fire.”