But Nikky was tired of words, and rather afraid of them. They were not his weapons. He trusted more, as has been said somewhere else, in his two strong arms.
“Too much ever to let you go,” he said. Which means nothing unless we take it for granted that she was in his arms. And she was, indeed.
The King having been examined and given some digestive tablets by the Court physicians—a group which, strangely enough, did not include Doctor Wiederman—had been given a warm bath and put to bed.
There was much formality as to the process now, several gentlemen clinging to their hereditary right to hang around and be nuisances during the ceremony. But at last he was left alone with Oskar.
Alone, of course, as much as a king is ever alone, which, what with extra sentries and so on, is not exactly solitary confinement.
“Oskar!” said the King from his pillow.
“Majesty!”
Oskar was gathering the royal garments, which the physicians had ordered burned, in case of germs.
“Did you ever eat American ice-cream?”
“No, Majesty. Not that I recall.”