'I hope my awkwardness may not have startled His Majesty.' While he talked Curdie went to the door: Lina was not there.
The doctor approached the bed.
'And how has my beloved king slept tonight ?' he asked.
'No better,' answered Irene, with a mournful shake of her head.
'Ah, that is very well!' returned the doctor, his fall seeming to have muddled either his words or his meaning.

'When we give him his wine, he will be better still.' Curdie darted at the flagon, and lifted it high, as if he had expected to find it full, but had found it empty.
'That stupid butler! I heard them say he was drunk!' he cried in a loud whisper, and was gliding from the room.
'Come here with that flagon, you! Page!' cried the doctor.

Curdie came a few steps toward him with the flagon dangling from his hand, heedless of the gushes that fell noiseless on the thick carpet.
'Are you aware, young man,' said the doctor, 'that it is not every wine can do His Majesty the benefit I intend he should derive from my prescription ?' 'Quite aware, sir, answered Curdie.

'The wine for His Majesty's use is in the third cask from the corner.' 'Fly, then,' said the doctor, looking satisfied.
Curdie stopped outside the curtain and blew an audible breath--no more; up came Lina noiseless as a shadow.

He showed her the flagon.
'The cellar, Lina: go,' he said.
She galloped away on her soft feet, and Curdie had indeed to fly to keep up with her.