The visitors, baffled, would retire, and Michael could, at his leisure, dispose of the body of the King.
Sapt, Fritz, and I in my bed, looked round on one another in horror and bewilderment at the cruelty and cunning of the plan.

Whether I went in peace or in war, openly at the head of a corps, or secretly by a stealthy assault, the King would be dead before I could come near him.
If Michael were stronger and overcame my party, there would be an end.
But if I were stronger, I should have no way to punish him, no means of proving any guilt in him without proving my own guilt also.

On the other hand, I should be left as King (ah! for a moment my pulse quickened) and it would be for the future to witness the final struggle between him and me.

He seemed to have made triumph possible and ruin impossible.

At the worst, he would stand as well as he had stood before I crossed his path--with but one man between him and the throne, and that man an impostor; at best, there would be none left to stand against him.