Everything was in ashes. But"—he lowered his voice—"we found what seemed to be the body of Boris the hound; in another room was a charred corpse, whose hunting-horn, melted to a molten mass, told us it had been Herbert the forester. And there was another corpse, almost shapeless, utterly unrecognisable. We saw it; the charcoal-burners saw it. Then more peasants came round, drawn by the sight of the flames. None could tell who it was; only I and James knew. And we mounted our horses and have ridden here to tell the King."
Sapt finished his lesson or his story. A sob burst from the Queen, and she hid her face in her hands. Bernenstein and I, amazed at this strange tale, scarcely understanding whether it were jest or earnest, stood staring stupidly at Sapt. Then I, overcome by the strange thing, turned half-foolish by the bizarre mingling of comedy and impressiveness in Sapt's rendering of it, plucked him by the sleeve, and asked, with something between a laugh and a gasp:
"Who had that other corpse been, Constable?"
He turned his small keen eyes on me in persistent gravity and unflinching effrontery:
"A Mr. Rassendyll, a friend of the King's, who with his servant James was awaiting His Majesty's return from Strelsau. His servant here is ready to start for England to tell Mr. Rassendyll's relatives the news."
