Hearing the trumpet, the Pretender hastened along the passage that led to the court. At the end of it a door opened, and the Secretary, stepping out, confronted him.
“Well met, Rambosalàma,” he said, taking his arm in a friendly but firm way, “I have somewhat to say to you.”
“Not now, not now!” exclaimed the other, hastily. “I am wanted outside! Another time—”
“No time like the present,” interrupted the Secretary, tightening his grasp, “come this way.”
Rambosalàma taking alarm, tried to wrench himself free, but the Secretary was strong. At the same moment a powerful black hand grasped the nape of his neck.
“Come now, sar, you go ’long quiet an’ comf’r’able an’ nobody hurt you. Dis way. Das a sweet little chamber for de naughty boys.”
With a force that there was no resisting Ebony pushed the prince into a small room with a very small window. The door was shut, the key turned, and the danger was past!
Immediately afterwards the Commander-in-Chief appeared on the balcony of the palace, announced the Queen’s death to the multitude, and, amid demonstrations of wildest joy, alike from soldiers and people, proclaimed Rakota King of Madagascar, under the title of Radama the Second.
In the afternoon of the same day the King presented himself to the people, arrayed in royal robes, with a crown on his head, and surrounded by his chief nobles.
So overjoyed were the people at the blessed change from the tyranny of a cruel woman to the sway of a gentle prince, that it was some time before they could be quieted. When silence was obtained, the King, in a few and simple words, assured his subjects that his great desire was, and his aim would be, to devote himself to their welfare, and that of the country over which he had been called to reign.