At the opposite end of the table sat Kyan, gloomy, and unassuming. As though to mock the King, he also leaned on one elbow, stretched out his legs, and looked up at the ceiling with a deep sigh.
His melancholy air gave him an absurd appearance.
"Hark you," whispered Fürstenberg, nudging Wackerbarth with his elbow--they were both tipsy by this time--"do you see our lord? Nothing makes him smile--and it is already eleven o'clock--he ought to be in a good humour by now. This is our fault."
"I am here as a guest," replied Wackerbarth, shrugging his shoulders. "It is none of my business; as you know him better than I do, you should find the proper way to amuse him."
"He is tired of Lubomirska--that is clear," added Taparel.
"And then it is difficult to digest those Swedes," whispered Wackerbarth. "I do not wonder at him."
"Eh! Eh! We have forgotten all about the Swedes; some one else will defeat them for us, we can be sure of that, and then we will go and gather the fruits," said Fürstenberg. "He is not bothered about the Swedes, but he has had enough of Lubomirska--we must find him some other woman."
"Is that such a difficult matter?" whispered Wackerbarth.
Then they began to whisper together, but so low that they could not be overheard, for, as though suddenly awakened from slumber, the King was looking round on his companions. His glance wandered from one to another, until it rested at length on the tragic pose of Baron Kyan, and on seeing this the monarch burst into a hearty laugh.
This was quite sufficient to make every one else laugh.