His white greyhound,
Amalthea, lay at his feet, looking up at him with his soft black
eyes. In his right hand the king held his flute.
"You are early, sir," said he, turning to Weingarten. "You must have
very important news."
"Yes, sire, very important," said Weingarten, approaching nearer.
The king reached out his hand. "Give them to me," said he.
"Sire, I have no dispatches."
"A verbal message, then. Speak."
"Sire, all is lost; Count Puebla suspects me."
The king was startled for a moment, but collected himself
immediately. "He suspects, but he is certain of nothing?"
"No, sire; but his suspicion amounts almost to certainty. Yesterday
I was copying a dispatch which was to go that evening, and which was
of the highest importance to your majesty, when I suddenly perceived
Count Puebla standing beside me at my desk. He had entered my room
very quietly, which showed that he had his suspicions, and was
watching me. He snatched my copy from the desk and read it. 'For
whom is this?' said he, in a threatening tone. I stammered forth
some excuses; said that I intended writing a history, and that I
took a copy of all dispatches for my work.
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