He did not quite reach the impudence of sending my would-be assassins, but he sent the other three of his famous Six--the three Ruritanian gentlemen--Lauengram, Krafstein, and Rupert Hentzau.

A fine, strapping trio they were, splendidly horsed and admirably equipped.

Young Rupert, who looked a dare-devil, and could not have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three, took the lead, and made us the neatest speech, wherein my devoted subject and loving brother Michael of Strelsau, prayed me to pardon him for not paying his addresses in person, and, further, for not putting his Castle at my disposal; the reason for both of these apparent derelictions being that he and several of his servants lay sick of scarlet fever, and were in a very sad, and also a very infectious state.
So declared young Rupert with an insolent smile on his curling upper lip and a toss of his thick hair--he was a handsome villain, and the gossip ran that many a lady had troubled her heart for him already.
"If my brother has scarlet fever," said I, "he is nearer my complexion than he is wont to be, my lord.

I trust he does not suffer ?" "He is able to attend to his affairs, sire." "I hope all beneath your roof are not sick.

What of my good friends, De Gautet, Bersonin, and Detchard?
I heard the last had suffered a hurt." Lauengram and Krafstein looked glum and uneasy, but young Rupert's smile grew broader.
"He hopes soon to find a medicine for it, sire," he answered.
And I burst out laughing, for I knew what medicine Detchard longed for--it is called Revenge.
"You will dine with us, gentlemen ?" I asked.
Young Rupert was profuse in apologies.