"What does it all mean?" he asked, raising his hand to his head, as if to smooth down his hair which stood on end.
"Your Majesty," continued Baum, who himself trembled when he saw the king's agitated manner, "the countess wore these articles when she rode out with me and ran away."
"Ran away? and--"
Baum laid his hand on his watch, and, although he could not see the dial, he counted the seconds, nevertheless; after which he softly answered:
"The countess drowned herself in the lake last night--no, it was night before last. The boatman saw the body of a female rise on the waters and sink again; and tomorrow, which is the third day, the lake will give her up."
The king motioned him to stop--it was enough--his hand trembled; he grasped the back of a chair to support himself, and stared at the hat and shoes.
Baum dropped his eyes. He felt that the king's gaze was fixed upon him, but he still kept looking on the floor, which seemed to be rising and lifting the lackey to the level of the throne. In his mind's eye, he already beheld himself at the king's side, and as the confidant of royalty. Baum modestly inclined his head still lower. He heard the king pacing the room, but still he did not look up.
"A downcast air," thought he, "betokens perfect obedience and unqualified devotion." The king now stopped before him.
"How do you know it was suicide?"
"I don't know. If it is Your Majesty's pleasure, the countess was drowned by others--"