The interview had somewhat encouraged Zac, although he had fearful misgivings about the magic word, which, strange to say, appeared to him both long and difficult. However, he resolved to make the best of it; and having finished his loaf of bread and pitcher of water, lay down on some straw which he found in the corner of his room, and fell fast asleep. In the morning he was awakened by a surly gaoler, who brought him a fresh loaf and some more water, of which he partook with all the relish of a good appetite. Not long after this, he heard the noise of persons descending the steps which led to his dungeon, and presently the door was thrown open, and a guard appeared, whose orders were to conduct the prisoner once more before the king.
Fridolin was sitting in his chair of state, surrounded by his courtiers; and near him stood the two elder princesses, with downcast eyes and cheeks suffused with modest blushes.
When the boy was brought in, the king frowned angrily upon him, and shook his royal fist in a threatening manner.
"Well, you young villain!" he cried; "have you passed the night bewailing your sins, and making ready for the death which certainly awaits you?"
"My lord king," answered the boy, with uplifted head and undaunted eye, "I have done no wrong against you or yours, and I deserve no death at your hands."
"What?" cried the king in a rage. "Didst thou not admit thy crime yesterday? Art thou not guilty of the charge brought against thee by our daughters?"
"Sire," replied the boy, "I said yesterday, and I say again, that I will not deny any statement made by these noble ladies."
"This is nonsense," said the king; "this is mere quibbling—again he admits his guilt. What shall we do with him? I say death!"
The courtiers all immediately said death too, as they would with equal unanimity have said anything else if their sovereign had happened to say it instead.
"Well, then," rejoined the king, "by what death shall he die? What say you, Lord Pompous?"