"I had thought," said the king, addressing the countess and at the same time lighting his cigar--he was the only one who smoked in the saloon--"that with you every day was Sunday."
"Yes, Your Majesty, but only since I've had the honor of being here. At the convent, Sunday was the only day on which we had cake, whilst here we have cake every day; and so I am obliged to use some other means to find out which is Sunday."
Von Schnabelsdorf, who had recently visited Spain on service of a diplomatic nature and was now awaiting orders, was sitting opposite the doctor. Addressing his conversation to the latter, he remarked that a friend of his who lived in Madrid had written a highly interesting work, to which he, also, had contributed a few ideas. It was soon to appear, and its subject was "Sunday," or rather "The Sabbath."
The king had overheard his remarks and inquired as to what these ideas were. Schnabelsdorf replied that as seven corresponded with the quarter of the lunar month, it was a natural division, and that the institution of the Sabbath was older than all positive religions. He had apt quotations to support every statement and did not forget to lug in the names of his distinguished friends.
Von Schnabelsdorf's learned discourse failed to make a deep impression on the company, which continued in its cheerful vein until the queen rose, beckoning the doctor to follow. The king offered her his arm and conducted her to a lovely seat under a weeping ash, on the slope of the lawn.
It was delightful to behold this royal pair, so tall and stately; and the queen was doubly beautiful, for another life was budding within her own.
The queen seated herself and the king sat down beside her. Without waiting for orders, the doctor drew up his chair and joined them.
"Yes," said the queen, "I must speak to you about it; I must tell you of a pain--"
"Perhaps I had better withdraw," said the king.
"No, you must remain. Once more, I ask you; if God grants me health, may I not nurse the child that is to be mine?"