“Have you noticed,” he asked, “that my coat’s torn?”
“I see it is.”
“Yes. The boar-hound tried to bite me, cousin. And the forester would have stabbed me. And—well, the king wanted to shoot me.”
“Yes, yes! For God’s sake, what happened?”
“Well, they none of them did what they wanted. That’s what happened, dear cousin.”
Rischenheim was staring at him now with wide-opened eyes. Rupert smiled down on him composedly.
“Because, you see,” he added, “Heaven helped me. So that, my dear cousin, the dog will bite no more, and the forester will stab no more. Surely the country is well rid of them?”
A silence followed. Then Rischenheim, leaning forward, said in a low whisper, as though afraid to hear his own question:
“And the king?”
“The king? Well, the king will shoot no more.”