"And I am convinced the king will be well pleased with our news," said Bielfeld. "I think so, because the king is a sleeping hero waiting to be roused."
"If you speak so loud," whispered Pollnitz, "it will be you who will wake this hero, and the thunder of his anger will fall upon you."
"Pollnitz is right," said Jordan; "be quiet, and let us await his majesty's waking." And the group stood in silence around the couch, with eyes fixed upon the king. He at last awoke, and a smile played upon his lip as he perceived the six cavaliers.
"You stand there like mourners," said he; "and to look at you one would think you were undertakers!"
"Ah, sire, fever does not kill like apoplexy," said Jordan, approaching his friend and pressing his hand tenderly.
"Your majesty called us undertakers," said Pollnitz, laughing. "As usual, the divine prophetic mind of our king is in the right. There is certainly a funeral odor about us."
"But God forbid that we should mourn," said Bielfeld, "we are much better prepared to sound the battlesong."
All this passed while the physician was feeling the king's pulse, and Fredersdorf was tenderly arranging his pillows. The king looked at him inquiringly. "Listen, Fredersdorf," said he, "what meaning have all these mysterious words and looks; why are you all so grave? Is one of my dogs dead? or are you only peevish because this abominable fever has cheated you of the rehearsal?"
"No, your majesty. The dogs are in excellent health."
"The king's pulse is perfectly quiet," said Ellart, "you can communicate your news to him." Baron Pollnitz approached the king's couch.