Kirschner rushed to Aloyse and Moltzahn. Aloyse was ruefully regarding the bandage Kirschner had hastily wrapped round his hand before going on Aloyse’s magnanimous mission. “I regret to inform Your Royal Highness that Mr. Grafton’s wound is most serious.”
“Is that all?” Aloyse scowled. “I aimed for his heart.”
Dr. Kirschner lowered his eyes; even his humble soul revolted. “Your Royal Highness,” he said, in a low voice, “Mr. Grafton is dead.”
“Dead!” Aloyse’s lips shrivelled and he staggered slightly.
“Your Royal Highness shot him through the heart,” said Moltzahn, in a congratulatory tone.
“Dead!” Aloyse’s voice was hoarse. “Let us go,” he said.
“But I must dress Your Royal Highness’s wound,” urged Kirschner.
“In the carriage,” Aloyse answered, impatiently. He cast a hasty glance towards the group on the grass—the prostrate man, the two kneeling beside him. “Let us go,” he said, and led the way.