Rischenheim did not interrupt him, but stood looking now at him, now out of the window. Still there was no stir in the streets, and still the standards floated at the summit of the flagstaffs. The King's death was not yet known in Strelsau.
"Where's Bauer?" asked Rupert suddenly. "Where the plague can Bauer be? He was my eyes. Here we are, cooped up, and I don't know what's going on."
"I don't know where he is. Something must have happened to him."
"Of course, my wise cousin. But what?"
Rupert began to walk up and down the room, smoking another cigarette at a great pace. Rischenheim sat down by the table, resting his head on his hand. He was wearied out by strain and excitement, his wounded arm pained him greatly, and he was full of horror and remorse at the event which had happened unknown to him the night before.
"I wish I was quit of it," he moaned at last.
Rupert stopped before him.
"You repent of your misdeeds?" he asked. "Well then, you shall be allowed to repent. Nay, you shall go and tell the King that you repent. Rischenheim, I must know what they are doing. You must go and ask an audience of the King."
"But the King is"
