ead his features. But his
step was none the less firm as he strode from the study, the chamberlain
and the doctor following, each provided with a lighted taper.

The custodian of the keys, who likewise fulfilled the duties of caretaker,
had already retired. Baumgarten roused him, bidding him, in the king's
name, make ready to open the state apartments.

Amazed at the unexpected summons, the man dressed hastily, and taking his
keys, joined his royal master. He first unlocked the door of the long
corridor leading to the main apartment, which served as an antechamber or
withdrawal room. The king entered, and marveled to find the walls draped
with black.

"By whose order has this been done?" Charles demanded angrily.

"Sire, no such order has come to my notice," replied the custodian, much
troubled. "The last time I swept the corridor the walls were paneled with
oak as usual. Those hangings certainly do not belong to your majesty's
equipment."

The king, with his rapid stride, had already traversed more than
two-thirds of the corridor. The count and the custodian followed closely
in his wake, the doctor lagging somewhat in the rear, divided between his
fear of being left alone and his dread of the unknown dangers he might
incur in pursuing an adventure which began so inauspiciously.

"Go no farther, sire," implored the custodian. "On my soul, there is
witchcraft within. At this hour, since the death of your gracious consort,
the queen, it is said she haunts this corridor. God grant us protection!"

"Pause, sire," exclaimed the count, in turn. "Hear the disturbances in the
state hall! Who knows to what peril your majesty may be exposing
yourself?"

"Sire," urged Baumgarten, whose taper had been extinguished by a puff of
wind, "permit me at least to summon twenty of your guards."

"We enter now," responded the king with determination. And stopping before
the lofty portal he said to the custodian: "Open this door without delay."

As he spoke he kicked the paneled oak, and the sound, reverberating among
the echoes of the vaulted ceiling, thundered down the corridor like the
noise of a cannon-shot.

The key rattled against the lock as the custodian, who was trembling
violently, sought vainly to insert it in its groove.

"An old soldier trembling!" scoffed Charles. "Come, count, let us see you
open the door."

"Sire," answered the count, falling back a step, "let your majesty command
me to face the cannon of the Ge