"I have a message by courier from my uncle in Axphain," said Mizrox. "He
says that Frederic was killed near Labbot by soldiers, after making a
gallant fight, on last Sunday night. The Princess Volga is rejoicing,
and has amply rewarded his slayers. Poor Frederic! He knew but little
happiness, in this life."
There was a full minute of reflection before any of his hearers
expressed the thought that had framed itself in every mind.
"Well, since Dantan and Frederic are accounted for, Baldos is absolutely
obliged to be Christobal," said Anguish resignedly.
"He's just Baldos," observed Beverly, snuffing out the faint hope that
had lingered so long. Then she said to herself: "And I don't care,
either. I only wish he were back here again. I'd be a good deal nicer to
him."
Messengers flew back and forth, carrying orders from the castle to
various quarters. The ministers were called to meet at twelve
o'clock. Underneath all the bustle there was a tremendous impulse of
American cunning, energy and resourcefulness. Everyone caught the
fever. Reserved old diplomats were overwhelmed by their own enthusiasm;
custom-bound soldiers forgot the hereditary caution and fell into the
ways of the new leaders without a murmur. The city was wild with
excitement, for all believed that the war was upon them. There was but
one shadow overhanging the glorious optimism of Graustark--the ugly,
menacing attitude of Axphain.
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