Within the cathedral at Lustadt excitement was at fever heat. It
lacked but two minutes of noon, and as yet no king had come to claim
the crown. Rumors were running riot through the close-packed
audience.
One man had heard the king's chamberlain report to Prince von der
Tann that the master of ceremonies had found the king's apartments
vacant when he had gone to urge the monarch to hasten his
preparations for the coronation.
Another had seen Butzow and two strangers galloping north through
the city. A third told of a little old man who had come to the king
with an urgent message.
Peter of Blentz and Prince Ludwig were talking in whispers at the
foot of the chancel steps. Peter ascended the steps and facing the
assemblage raised a silencing hand.
"He who claimed to be Leopold of Lutha," he said, "was but a mad
adventurer. He would have seized the throne of the Rubinroths had
his nerve not failed him at the last moment. He has fled. The true
king is dead. Now I, Prince Regent of Lutha, declare the throne
vacant, and announce myself king!"
There were a few scattered cheers and some hissing. A score of the
nobles rose as though to protest, but before any could take a step
the attention of all was directed toward the sorry figure of a
white-faced man who scurried up the broad center aisle.
It was Coblich.
He ran to Peter's side, and though he attempted to speak in a
whisper, so out of breath, and so filled with hysterical terror was
he that his words came out in gasps that were audible to many of
those who stood near by.
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