“I’m on my way to the palace to find out where he is. If I can’t see him, I must write at once. My business is very urgent.”
“Indeed, my dear count, indeed! Dear me! Urgent, you say?”
“But perhaps you can help me. Is he at Zenda?”
The chancellor was becoming very embarrassed; Anton had disappeared into the house; Rischenheim buttonholed him resolutely.
“At Zenda? Well, now, I don’t—Excuse me, but what’s your business?”
“Excuse me, my dear chancellor; it’s a secret.”
“I have the king’s confidence.”
“Then you’ll be indifferent to not enjoying mine,” smiled Rischenheim.
“I perceive that your arm is hurt,” observed the chancellor, seeking a diversion.
“Between ourselves, that has something to do with my business. Well, I must go to the palace. Or—stay—would her Majesty condescend to help me? I think I’ll risk a request. She can but refuse,” and so saying Rischenheim approached the door.