"I hope so ... well, au revoir, Monsieur...."
"Pardon, Monsieur," interrupted one of the employés, "but his Majesty has asked for you again."
"All right, I'm going," replied Wulf, as he drank his fifth vermouth.
"Whatever happens, whatever you are told, do not show any surprise. Take up your customary life again as though it had never been interrupted, as though nothing had happened since the night of December 31st."
Frederick-Christian, the victim of a racking headache, read and reread these strange mysterious words, without in the least understanding their meaning. After a heavy sleep, he had wakened about nine o'clock to find himself lying comfortably in his own bed at the Royal Palace. At first he thought it was part of his nightmare, that he was dreaming, but as he became more fully awake, he was obliged to admit the evidence of his senses.
At this moment, he suddenly caught sight of the crumpled letter pinned to his counterpane; opening it, he read the lines that Fandor had hurriedly pencilled the night before.
In spite of his exhaustion and stiffness, he sprang out of bed and was about to ring for a servant when a feeling of caution came over him.
It would be better first to take stock of the situation.
What had happened?