“Courage!” she said quietly.
The Chancellor stood a second inside the door. Then he went to the side of the bed, and knelt, his lips to the cold, white hand on the counterpane.
“Sire!” he choked. “It is I—Mettlich.”
The King looked at him, and placed his hand on the bowed gray head. Then his eyes turned to Annunciata and rested there. It was as if he saw her, not as the embittered woman of late years, but as the child of the woman he had loved.
“A good friend, and a good daughter,” he said clearly. “Few men die so fortunate, and fewer sovereigns.” His hand moved from Mettlich’s head, and rested on the photograph.
The elder Sister leaned forward and touched his wrist. “Doctor!” she said sharply.
Doctor Wiederman came first, the others following. They grouped around the bed. Then the oldest of them, who had brought Annunciata into the world, touched her on the shoulder.
“Madame!” he said. “Madame, I—His Majesty has passed away.”
Mettlich staggered to his feet, and took a long look at the face of his old sovereign and king.
In the mean time, things had been happening in the room where the Council waited. The Council, free of the restraint of the Chancellor’s presence, had fallen into low-voiced consultation. What was to be done? They knew already the rumors of the streets, and were helpless before them. They had done what they could. But the boy was gone, and the city rising. Already the garrison of the fortress had been ordered to the Palace, but it could not arrive before midnight. Friese had questioned the wisdom of it, at that, and was for flight as soon as the King died. Bayerl, on the other hand, urged a stand, in the hope that the Crown Prince would be found.