The Emperor smiled calmly. It was evident that he had not gone out of his mind, as they had at first feared.
He spoke in measured accents. “I have been thinking very deeply, my good old friend Golitzine. One of the band is going to assassinate me to-night. Well, you leave that part of the problem to me.”
Golitzine recoiled in consternation. “It is my duty and that of my colleagues”—he pointed to the two inarticulate Generals—“to guard the sacred person of your Majesty. With all respect, Sire, I cannot leave that task to yourself.”
He turned to the Baron. “I think, Salmoros, you will agree with me?” he asked.
Salmoros spoke in very decided tones. “In a question of this importance, your Majesty must consent to take the advice of your faithful friends and legal supporters.” He had no very great opinion of the Emperor’s ability or capacity to deal with difficult circumstances.
The Emperor’s smile was more pronounced than before, as he tapped Golitzine on the shoulder and extended a hand to the venerable Salmoros.
He drew them aside, and spoke in a confidential whisper.
“My dear friends, I appreciate to the full your anxiety about me, and I shall want your wholehearted assistance, which, I know, will be given ungrudgingly to me. With regard to this little matter of assassination, some ideas have come to me. Let me work them out my own way, if you please.”
Both men bowed in assent. There was no more to be said. When an autocrat has delivered his fiat, argument on the part of even his most trusted servants is useless.