“The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim begs to be allowed to speak with the king,” said James.
“We expect his Majesty every moment. Beg the count to enter,” Sapt answered; and, when Rischenheim came in, he went on, motioning the count to a chair: “We are talking, my lord, of the influence of the moon on the careers of men.”
“What are you going to do? What have you decided?” burst out Rischenheim impatiently.
“We decide nothing,” answered Sapt.
“Then what has Mr.—what has the king decided?”
“The king decides nothing, my lord. She decides,” and the old fellow pointed again through the window towards the moon. “At this moment she makes or unmakes a king; but I can’t tell you which. What of your cousin?”
“You know that my cousin’s dead.”
“Yes, I know that. What of him, though?”
“Sir,” said Rischenheim with some dignity, “since he is dead, let him rest in peace. It is not for us to judge him.”
“He may well wish it were. For, by Heaven, I believe I should let the rogue off,” said Colonel Sapt, “and I don’t think his Judge will.”