Karl lifted his eyes to glance at it as the tent flap was lifted.
“Are you wondering when you will see Stockholm again, Count?” he asked irrelevantly.
“I dream no more of Stockholm,” replied Piper. “I came to see how your Majesty does.”
“Very well,” said Karl.
He moved the lamp so that the rays did not fall fully on his face; he was shivering and burning with fever, and knew it; he did not wish Piper to notice his condition.
“Have you seen Rehnsköld?” he asked.
“Yes, sire.”
“He told you nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Karl put his hand to his head, pushing back his short locks of fair hair that were wet with sweat; his whole body ached with pain, and his wounded foot was a fiery agony.