The King suddenly started back in his chair as though somebody had offered to strike him. "You—you—you, my wife! You, Stenovics! You, whom I trusted—trusted—trusted like—! Ah, is that you, Lepage? Did I hear rightly—wouldn't she swear?"
"With the utmost respect to Madame la Comtesse, she could not swear, sir."
The King sprang to his feet. "Go!" he cried.
They all rose—the Countess shaken with unconquerable sobs. But the next moment the King made a quick in-drawing of the breath, like a man suddenly pricked by some sharp thing. He dropped back in his chair; his head fell to meet his hands on the table in front. The hands were palms downward, and his forehead rested on his knuckles.
There was a moment's pause. Then Lepage darted from the room, crying: "Dr. Natcheff! Dr. Natcheff!" Stenovics wiped his brow. Stafnitz raised his head with a queer look at the King, and his mouth shaped for a whistle. The Countess's sobs seemed as though frozen, her whole frame was rigid. The King did not move.
Natcheff came rushing in; Lepage, who followed closely, shut the door after him. They both went to the King. There was silence while Natcheff made his examination. In a couple of minutes he turned round to them.
"Something has caused his Majesty strong agitation?"
"Yes," answered Stenovics.
"Yes!" said Natcheff. He cleared his throat and glanced doubtfully at the Countess.
"Well?" asked Stenovics.