‘What disguise can I wear?’ he demanded, in a choked voice.
‘Change clothes with your valet,’ the Queen replied, with feminine quickness. ‘This gentleman affirms that he is one of the conspirators.’
‘Constantine! Impossible! I do not believe it.’
Draga wrung her hands.
‘I cannot save him. He is obstinate!’ she sobbed.
The sob conquered the stubborn narrow mind which would have resisted all argument. Alexander darted into his dressing-room, from which the valet was just trying to escape.
Seizing the man by the throat, Alexander dealt him a blow on the temple which deprived him of his senses. I had followed his Majesty, and I now stripped the valet while the King hastily undressed. While the King was assuming the disguise thus provided for him, I carried the insensible man into the bedroom, and placed him between the royal sheets.
At this moment the white face of Anna Petrovitch appeared in the doorway beyond.
‘They are coming! I see them outside in the courtyard.’
‘Quick, quick!’ burst from the lips of Queen Draga, whose self-possession seemed almost unnatural. And she pushed her husband towards the door of his own dressing-room.