His soldier-servant, who had learnt the whole truth elsewhere, moved noiselessly about, looking sad and anxious as before. He set the tea- things ready, fetched some wine, and drove the dog out of the room as it leaped about for joy at the sight of its master.
After a while the man came back on tiptoe. “Your Excellency had better have a little wine,” he whispered.
“Eh? What?” exclaimed Sarudine, opening his eyes and shutting them again instantly. In a tone which he thought severe, but which was really piteous, he could just move his swollen lips sufficiently to say: “Bring me the looking-glass.”
The servant sighed, brought the mirror, and held a candle close to it.
“Why does he want to look at himself?” he thought.
When Sarudine looked in the glass he uttered an involuntary cry. In the dark mirror a terribly disfigured face confronted him. One side of it was black and blue, his eye was swollen, and his moustache stuck out like bristles on his puffy check.
“Here! Take it away!” murmured Sarudine, and he sobbed hysterically. “Some water!”
“Your Excellency mustn’t take it so to heart. You’ll soon be all right again,” said the kindly soldier, as he proffered water in a sticky glass which smelt of tea.
Sarudine could not drink; his teeth rattled helplessly against the rim of the glass, and the water was spilt over his coat.
“Go away!” he feebly moaned.