The Fools Love Story | Page 4

trial, who knows what might ensue? Men are ever
ready to revolt against those who rule them, and who can say but that
the trial of these rebels would swell the ranks of the disloyal--for
treason is an infectious malady--and prove the signal for open revolt?
As it is, when the news goes round, to-morrow, that ten noble lords
have been found murdered in their beds, there will be much marvelling
and much surmising--also, maybe, some grief--but those who have
listened to the doctrines of these ten, and sharpened their weapons in
anticipation of a fray, will understand, and will be stricken with terror
at the awful fate which has overtaken their leaders. Believe me,
gentlemen, they will be silent and they will disperse."
"Will not your Majesty consider--" began the grey-haired Duke of
Ottrau; but the King cut him short.
"I have considered, my lords, and I have decided. What matters the
manner of these men's death? They have richly earned their fate, and if
they were openly tried they could not escape the scaffold--so what
difference does it make whether it be the dagger or the axe? None to
them, but much to me."
The tone is too determined to permit of further argument. It but remains
for Grunhain to receive his Majesty's instructions.
"Here is the list, Captain," the King continues, taking a paper from the
table. "I will read out the names of those whom we have sentenced:
Kervenheim von Huld, Nienberge, Blankenburg, Eberholz, Retzwald,

Leubnitz, Hartenstein, Reussbach, and the French Marquis de
Savignon."
"Concerning that last one, Sire," ventures Ronshausen, the favourite,
"has your Majesty remembered that he is a subject of the King of
France?"
"I have," answers Ludwig, "and I have also remembered that he--a
foreigner to whom I have ever shown great favour and consideration,
and who, were he to live, would wed one of the noblest ladies of my
Court--couples ingratitude with his treason. No doubt he whom they
intend to set up in my stead has bribed him richly; but he shall pay for
his folly, as others are paying for theirs, with his life: and I fail to see
how I am to be made accountable to the King of France for the chance
assassination of a subject of his, in my capital. The matter is settled,
gentlemen; Ritter von Grunhain knows how to see to its execution.
There is no more to be said," he goes on, rising, "but when you hear
midnight striking in the belfry of St. Oswald, say a prayer, gentlemen,
for the repose of the souls of ten traitors whose knell it will be sounding.
And now, let us join the Court."
One by one, they pass out after the King, and then, when the door has
closed upon the last of them, a head peeps forth from the rich damask
drapery that curtains one of the windows, and a pair of dark eyes
hastily survey the room: the next instant the curtains are parted and
Kuoni von Stocken steps forth.
There is a look of fierce, almost fiendish exultation on his swart face,
and the low mocking laugh that bursts from his thin lips can be likened
to nothing save the chuckle of the Tempter in his hour of victory.
"So, my lord of Savignon, you have been meddling in politics, eh?" he
murmurs, rubbing his lean, nervous hands together; "and to-night you
die. Fool! Arch-fool! That you should be well-born, rich, high in favour
at the Courts of France and Sachsenberg alike, did not suffice your
greed, but you must wish to become a moulder of history besides, and
like many another such before you, you have destroyed yourself! Oh,
what a thing is man! Faugh!"

And with a sneer of contempt for the whole human race in general and
the Marquis de Savignon in particular, Kuoni flings himself into the
chair lately occupied by the King.
"To think," he goes on, "that a man about to become the husband of
such a woman as the lady Louisa von Lichtenau should trifle and fence
with death! By the Mass, Sire," he cries, raising his long arm and
speaking as if the King were there to hear him, "slay him not! Spare
him and clothe him in my suit of motley; he is too marvellous a fool to
die!"
Then, of a sudden, the mocking smile fades from his face, to be
replaced by a grave, sad look, as the thought occurs to him: "What will
the lady Louisa think to-morrow, when the news is carried to her? How
will she bear it?"
That she loves de Savignon with all her heart and soul the jester knows
full well, and as he thinks of it he grinds his teeth and drives his nails
into the