seal of the Minister. King Morus pressed his hands to his temples and murmured: “Perhaps I am not king Morus.”
The crowd increased. Knights and ladies came to see the beautiful head, which from now on could cause neither envy nor love. The beggar came, too. The only one who spoke to the King was the beggar who gave him the covering.
“Get out of here! The great lords will beat you and take away the covering I gave you.” The beggar took him by the hand and led him away. He felt limp and weak and had no will of his own.
On the great square his eyes again brightened. He saw Narciz. The Minister was hurrying to the royal presence, a package under his arm. He ran after him. He fell upon his neck.
“Narciz! Narciz! You dear old man! Lucky for me to find you!”
The Minister, in anger, freed himself.
“What sort of shameless creature are you?”
“Don’t you recognize me? I am the King.”
“Of course not!” replied the Minister, laughing.
“You resemble him a little, if you were not so hoarse.”
He tapped him gently on the back with the gold headed cane which the King had given him on his fiftieth birthday.
In the merriest mood the Minister entered the royal dwelling. Servants ran ahead to open doors for him, until he came to the room of the royal presence—where the King—Rogus—awaited him.
Rogus told the story to him; how he had overheard
