"Sire, Your Majesty is never mistaken; if a man was in this room he is still here, unless he has flown through the window or Your Majesty has been dreaming."
"Fool, do I look like a man who has been dreaming? Did I overturn this lamp? did I tear these papers?"
"Sire, I am nothing but a worm of the earth; God forbid that I should contradict my sovereign. Your majesty does not hire me to give him the lie. But this year strange dreams are an epidemic. No one knows what he may do or suffer in his sleep. Only just now I was overtaken with sleep in spite of myself, and if I were not sure that I was dreaming I should declare that an invisible hand boxed my ears twice, at which I awakened with a start."
"It was the specter!" said the king.
"Your Majesty is right," replied Rachimburg; "I am nothing but a simpleton; it was the specter."
"And I did not know her!" resumed Charming. "Nevertheless, it was her voice and air. What does this mean? Is it a new insult? Is it a warning from heaven? Does some danger threaten me? No matter, I will remain in my kingdom. My friend, not a word of all this: take this purse and keep the secret."
"That makes the third," murmured the faithful Rachimburg, as he undressed the king with a zeal and address which several times made His Majesty smile.
So many emotions one after another banished sleep; it was daybreak before the prince dozed, and broad daylight before he awoke. In the first moment between sleeping and waking Charming fancied that he heard a strange noise—bells ringing, cannon firing, and three or four bands of music playing each a different air. He was not mistaken; it was an infernal hubbub. The king rang. Rachimburg entered, carrying a bouquet of flowers.
"Sire," said he, "will His Majesty permit the humblest of his servants to be the first to express to him the universal joy? Your people are intoxicated with love and gratitude. The taxes lessened, the prisons opened, the army reduced! Sire, you are the greatest prince in the world; never has earth seen a ruler like you. Show yourself at the balcony; answer these cries of 'Hurrah for the king!' Smile on the people that bless you."
Rachimburg could not finish; tears choked his voice. He attempted to wipe his eyes, but in his excitement he took the gazette from his pocket instead of a handkerchief, and began to kiss it like a madman.