"Certainly, Your Majesty. I thank you, humbly."
The king had drawn a large emerald ring from his finger, and, while he turned it from side to side, the bright gem sparkled in the sunlight.
Baum thought that the king was about to bestow the ring upon him as a mark of his favor, but his majesty put the ring on again, and asked: "Are you married?"
"I was, Your Majesty."
"Have you any children?"
"An only son, Your Majesty."
"Very well. Hold yourself in readiness; I shall soon have further orders for you."
Baum went out. While hurrying through the anteroom, he graciously addressed the chamberlain with: "Pray don't rise!" There was no need that any one should see what was plainly to be read in every line of his face. The king had addressed him familiarly, and had even inquired about his family. He was, at last, the confidant of royalty; the highest honors now awaited him.
He went to his quarters in the side wing of the palace.
The king was alone. Naught was near him save Irma's hat and shoes. He gazed at them for a long while. What a poem it would make--to bring to the lover the shoes and the hat of his beloved--what a song it would be to sing in the twilight. Such were his thoughts and yet his brain whirled. With trembling hands, he took up the hat and shoes, and locked up the tokens of death in his writing-desk.