"What do you mean, my king?" said Sophia, fixing her trembling glance upon her husband.
"I mean that we will see if we can take our places with dignity and worthily in our coffins; that we will do to-day in sport what we must hereafter do in solemn earnest."
"This is indeed a cruel jest," said the queen.
"Oh, yes, to the children of this world every thing seems cruel which reminds them of death and the fleeting nature of all earthly joys," said the king, "but such a warning is good and healthy to the soul, and if we would accustom ourselves from time to time to leave the ballroom and rest awhile in our coffins, we would, without doubt, lead more holy and earnest lives. Lay yourself, therefore, in your coffin, Sophia; it will be to your soul's advantage, and my eyes will see a picture which, praised be God, you can never behold. I shall see you in your coffin."
"Oh, you are younger than I, my husband; you will surely see me buried; it is not therefore necessary to put me to this trial."
"Conquer thy soul, and make it quiet and humble," said the king; "we have come hither to try our coffins, and we will try them!"
"The king had a feverish attack of piety to-day. I would not have come if I had known the intentions of your majesty," said the queen.
"You would have come as I willed it," murmured the king, while his cheeks glowed with anger and his eye flashed fire.
Sophia saw these symptoms of a rising storm, and she knew that all restraints would be removed if she resisted longer. She called with a commanding tone to one of her maids of honor, and said proudly:
"Reach me your hand, duchess; I am weary, and will for awhile rest upon this bed, of a new and uncommon form."