SOPHY OF KRAVONIA
"Ah, Lepage, where have you been?" asked the King.
"Just to get a little air and drink a glass at the Golden Lion."
"You look gayer than that!" smiled the King. Evidently his anger had passed; perhaps he wished to show as much to an old servant whom he liked and valued.
Conscience-stricken—or so appearing—Lepage tore the flower from his coat. "I beg Your Majesty's pardon. I ought to have removed it before entering your Majesty's presence. But I was told you wished to retire at once, sir, so I hurried here immediately."
The King gave a weary yawn. "Yes, I'll go to bed at once, Lepage; and let me sleep as long as I can. This fag-end of life isn't very amusing." He passed his hand wearily across his brow. "My head aches. Isn't the room very close, Lepage? Open the window."
"It has begun to rain, sir."
"Never mind, let's have the rain, too. At least, it's fresh."
Lepage opened a window which looked over the Krath. The King rose: Lepage hastened to offer his arm, which his Majesty accepted. They went together to the window. A sudden storm had gathered; rain was pelting down in big drops.
"It looks like being a rough night," remarked the King.
"I'm afraid it does, sir," Lepage agreed.
"We're lucky to be going to our beds."
"Very, sir," answered Lepage, wondering whose opposite fate his Majesty was pitying.
"I shouldn't care, even if I were a young man and a sound one, to ride to Praslok to-night."
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