Rupert smiled down on him composedly.
"Because, you see," he added, "Heaven helped me.

So that, my dear cousin, the dog will bite no more, and the forester will stab no more.
Surely the country is well rid of them ?" A silence followed.

Then Rischenheim, leaning forward, said in a low whisper, as though afraid to hear his own question: "And the king ?" "The king?
Well, the king will shoot no more." For a moment Rischenheim, still leaning forward, gazed at his cousin.
Then he sank slowly back into his chair.
"My God!" he murmured: "my God!" "The king was a fool," said Rupert.

"Come, I'll tell you a little more about it." He drew a chair up and seated himself in it.
While he talked Rischenheim seemed hardly to listen.

The story gained in effect from the contrast of Rupert's airy telling; his companion's pale face and twitching hands tickled his fancy to more shameless jesting.
But when he had finished, he gave a pull to his small smartly-curled moustache and said with a sudden gravity: "After all, though, it's a serious matter." Rischenheim was appalled at the issue.