"If his highness is married next month ... it means his death."
The empress remained sitting stiff and upright, but she turned very pale, shuddered and closed her eyes as though she felt giddy.
"His death?" echoed the emperor, in consternation.
"Or worse," rejoined Barzia.
"Worse?"
"The extinction of your majesty's posterity."
The emperor rapped out a furious oath and struck his fist on the huge writing-table. The bronze ornaments on it rang. Myxila drew a step nearer:
"Sir," he said, "there is nothing lost. If I understand Professor Barzia, his highness' illness is only temporary and is curable."
"Certainly, excellency," replied Barzia. "So long as it is not forced to become incurable and chronic."
Oscar bit his lips convulsively. His glittering eyes stood out small and cruel. It struck Myxila how much, at this moment, he resembled a portrait of Wenceslas the Cruel.