"Marie Zerkovitch calls me! I must go at once," she said. "I expect Monseigneur is awake." She hurried off with a nod of farewell.
Dunstanbury stayed a little while on the wall, smoking a cigarette, and then went down into the street. The door of the guard-house was shut; all was very quiet as he passed along to the market-place where the inn was situated. He went up to his room overlooking the street, and, taking off his coat only, flung himself on the bed. He was minded thus to await Basil Williamson's return with news of the King. But the excitement of the day had wearied him; in ten minutes he was sound asleep.
He was aroused by Basil Williamson's hand on his shoulder. The young doctor, a slim-built, dark, wiry fellow, looked very weary and sad.
"How has it gone?" asked Dunstanbury, sitting up.
"It's been a terrible night. I'm glad you've had some sleep. He awoke after an hour; the hemorrhage had set in again. I had to tell him it was a thousand to one against him. He sent for her, and made me leave them alone together. There was only one other room, and I waited there with a little woman—a Madame Zerkovitch—who cried terribly. Then he sent for Lukovitch, who seems to be the chief man in the place. Presently Lukovitch went away, and I went back to the King. I found him terribly exhausted; she was there, sitting by him and whispering to him now and then; she seemed calm. Presently Lukovitch came back; the Zerkovitches and the German man came too. They all came in—the King would not hear my objections—and with them came a priest. And then and there the King married her! She spoke to nobody except to me before the service began, and then she only said: 'Monseigneur wishes it.' I waited till the service was done, but I could bear no more. I went outside while they shrived him. But I was called back hurriedly. Then the end came very soon—in less than half an hour. He sent everybody away except her and me, and when I had done all that was possible, I went as far off as I could—into the corner of the room. I came back at a call from her just before he died. The man was looking extraordinarily happy, Dunstanbury."
"They were married?"
"Oh yes. It's all right, I suppose—not that it seems to matter much now, does it? Put on your coat and come to the window. You'll see a sight you'll remember, I think."
Together they went to the window. The sun had risen from behind the mountains and flooded the city with light; the morning air was crisp and fragrant. The market-place was thronged with people—men in line in front, women, girls, and boys in a mass behind. They were all absolutely quiet and silent. Opposite where they were was a raised platform of wood, reached by steps from the ground; it was a rostrum for the use of those who sold goods by auction in the market. A board on trestles had been laid on this, and on the board was stretched the body of the King. At his feet stood Lukovitch; behind were Max von Hollbrandt, Zerkovitch, and Marie. At the King's head stood Sophy, and Peter Vassip knelt on the ground beside her. She stood like a statue, white and still; but Dunstanbury could see the Red Star glowing.
Lukovitch seemed to have been speaking, although the sound of his voice had not reached them through the closed window of the topmost room in the inn. He spoke again now—not loudly, but in a very clear voice.
"The King lies dead through treachery," he said. "In Slavna the German woman rules, and her son, and the men who killed the King. Will you have them to rule over you, men of Volseni?"