"If he's not crowned today," said he, "I'll lay a crown he's never
crowned."

"But heavens, why?"

"The whole nation's there to meet him; half the army--ay, and Black
Michael at the head. Shall we send word that the King's drunk?"

"That he's ill," said I, in correction.

"Ill!" echoed Sapt, with a scornful laugh. "They know his illnesses too
well. He's been 'ill' before!"

"Well, we must chance what they think," said Fritz helplessly. "I'll
carry the news and make the best of it."

Sapt raised his hand.

"Tell me," said he. "Do you think the King was drugged?"

"I do," said I.

"And who drugged him?"

"That damned hound, Black Michael," said Fritz between his teeth.

"Ay," said Sapt, "that he might not come to be crowned. Rassendyll here
doesn't know our pretty Michael. What think you, Fritz, has Michael no
king ready? Has half Strelsau no other candidate? As God's alive, man