Count Staumn
left the bolted door, took an empty flagon from the shelf, filled it at
the barrel in the corner, and, with a low bow, presented the brimming
measure to the King.
Rudolph held aloft his beaker of Burgundy, and, as he did so, spoke in
a loud voice that rang to the beams of the ceiling:
"Gentlemen, I give you a suitable toast. May none here gathered
encounter a more pitiless storm than that which is raging without!"
With this he drank off the wine, and, inclining his head slightly to
the Count, returned the flagon. No one, save the King, had spoken since
he entered. Every word he had uttered seemed charged with double
meaning and brought to the suspicious minds of his hearers visions of a
trysting place surrounded by troops, and the King standing there,
playing with them, as a tiger plays with its victims. His easy
confidence appalled them.
When first he came in, several who were seated remained so, but one by
one they rose to their feet, with the exception of Baron Brunfels,
although he, when the King gave the toast, also stood. It was clear
enough their glances of fear were not directed towards the King, but
towards Baron Brunfels. Several pairs of eyes beseeched him in silent
supplication, but the Baron met none of these glances, for his gaze was
fixed upon the King.
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