"His ring!" said a Pomeranian. "Be sure that the Jesuits knew what is was good for. The ring was charmed by a Finnish witch, and as long as the king wore it, he could not be hurt by steel or lead."
"But see to-day he has lost it, and therefore—you understand."
"What is that fruit-eating Pomeranian saying?" said the Finn angrily. "The power of the Almighty, and nothing else, has protected our great king, but the ring was given to him long ago by a young Finnish girl, whom he loved in his youth; I know more about this than you do."
Duke Bernhard, who, sad and sorrowful, was watching the king's pale features, turned round at these words; he put his sound hand underneath his open buff waistcoat, and said to the Finn:
"Comrade, do you know one of Stälhandske's officers named Bertel?"
"Yes, your grace."
"Is he alive?"
"No, your grace."
The duke turned to another and gave several orders abstractedly. A few moments later, when he again looked at the king, he seemed to remember something.
"Was he a brave man?" he asked.