“I am also another actor on the boards,” continued Del Fortis smiling darkly;—“if only as a spectator in the ‘super’ crowd. And other comedians and tragedians are doubtless present, of whom we may hear anon!”
“The King has nasty humours sometimes,” said Jost shortly, looking down at the flower in his buttonhole, and absently flicking off one of its petals with his fat forefinger—“He ought to be made to pay for them!”
“Ha, ha! Very good! Certainly!” and Del Fortis gave a piously-deprecating nod—“He ought to be made to pay! Especially when he hurts the feelings of his old friends! Are you going, Mr. Jost? Yes? What a pity! But you no doubt have your reporters present?”
“Oh, there are plenty of them about,”—said Jost carelessly, “But I shall condense all the account of these proceedings into a few lines.”
“Ha,—ha!” laughed Del Fortis,—“I understand! Revenge—revenge! But—in certain cases—the briefest description is sometimes the most graphic—and startling! Good-day!”
Jost returned the salute curtly, and went,—not to leave the scene altogether, but merely to take up a position of vantage immediately above and behind the surging crowd, where from a distance he could watch all that was going on. He saw the King lift his hand towards the ropes and pulleys of the crane above him,—and as it was touched by the Royal finger, the foundation stone was slowly lowered into the deep socket prepared for it, where gold and silver coins of the year’s currency had already been strewn. Then, with the aid of a silver trowel set in a handle of gold, and obsequiously presented by the managing director of the scheme, his Majesty dabbed in a little mortar, and declared in a loud voice that the stone was ‘well and truly laid.’ A burst of cheering greeted the announcement, and the band struck up the country’s National Hymn, this being the usual sign that the ceremony was at an end. Whereupon the King, shaking hands again cordially with the various parties concerned, and again shedding the lustre of his smile upon the various ladies with whom he had been conversing, made his way very leisurely to his State equipage, which, with its six magnificently caparisoned horses, stood prepared for his departure, the door being already held open for him by one of the attendant powdered and gold-laced flunkeys. Sir Roger de Launay walked immediately behind his Sovereign, and Professor von Glauben was close at hand, companioned by two of the gentlemen of the Royal Household. All at once a young man pushed himself out of the crowd nearest to the enclosure,—paused a moment irresolute, and then, with a single determined bound reached the King’s side.
“Thief of the People’s money! Take that!” he shouted, wildly,—and, brandishing aloft a glittering stiletto, he aimed it straight at the monarch’s heart!
But the blow never reached its destination, for a woman, closely veiled in black, suddenly threw herself swiftly and adroitly between the King’s body and the descending blade, shielding his breast with both her outstretched arms. The dagger struck her violently, piercing her flesh through the upper part of her right shoulder, and under the sheer force of the blow, she fell senseless.
The whole incident took place in less time than it could be breathlessly told,—and even as she who had risked her life to save the King’s, sank bleeding to the ground, the police seized the assassin red-handed in his mad and criminal act, and wrenched the murderous weapon from his hand. He was a mere lad of eighteen or twenty, and seemed dazed, submitting to be bound and handcuffed without a word. The King, perfectly tranquil and unhurt, bared his head to the wild cries and hysterical cheering of the excited spectators to whom his narrow escape from death appeared a kind of miracle, moving them to frantic paroxysms of passionate enthusiasm, and then bent anxiously down over the prostrate form of his rescuer, endeavouring himself to raise her from the ground. A hundred hands at once proffered assistance;—Sir Roger de Launay, pale to the lips with the shock of sick horror he had experienced at what might so easily have been a national catastrophe, assisted the police in forming a strong cordon round the person of his beloved Royal master, in order to guard him against any further possible attack,—and Professor von Glauben, obeying the King’s signal, knelt down by the unconscious woman’s side to examine the extent of her injury. Gently he turned back the close folds of her enveloping veil,—then gave a little start and cry:
“Gott in Himmel!” And he hastily drew down the veil again as the King approached with the question—