How the King supped, how the King slept, and what he thought of his ChÂteau of Augustenburg which he now saw for the first time, are matters respecting which I have no information. I only know that I had fallen asleep on Monsieur Maurice's sofa when Bertha came at ten o'clock that night to fetch me home; that I was very drowsy and unwilling to be moved; and that I woke in the morning dreaming of a brown man with bright eyes, and calling upon Monsieur Maurice to make haste and come before he should again have time to vanish away.

It was a lovely morning; bright and fresh, and sunshiny after the night's storm. My first thought was of Monsieur Maurice, and the card he had entrusted to my keeping. I had it still. My father was not at home when I came back last night. He was in attendance on the King, and did not return till long after I was asleep in my own little bed. This morning, early as I awoke, he was gone again, on the same duty.

I jumped up. I bade Bertha dress me quickly. “I must go to papa,” I said. “I have a card for him from Monsieur Maurice.”

“Nay, liebe Gretchen,” said Bertha, “he is with the King.”

But I told myself that I would find him, and see him, and give the card into his own hands, though a dozen kings were in the way. I could not read what was written on the card. I could read print easily and rapidly, but handwriting not at all. I knew, however, that it was urgent. Had he not said that it was matter of life or death?

I hurried to dress; I hurried to get out. I could not rest, I could not eat till I had given up the card. As good fortune would have it, the first person I met was Corporal Fritz. I asked him where I could find my father.

“Dear little FrÄulein,” said Corporal Fritz, “you cannot see him just yet. He is with the King.”

“But I must see him,” I said. “I must—indeed, I must. Go to him for me—please go to him, dear, good Corporal Fritz, and tell him his little Gretchen must speak to him, if only for one moment!”

“But dear little FrÄulein”....

“Is the King at breakfast?” I interrupted.

“At breakfast! Eh, then, our gallant King hath a soldier's habits. His Majesty breakfasted at six this morning, and is gone out betimes to visit his hunting-lodge at Falkenlust.”

“And my father?”

“His Excellency the Governor is in attendance upon the King.”

“Then I will go to Falkenlust.”

Corporal Fritz shook his head; shrugged his shoulders; took a pinch of snuff.

“'Tis a long road to Falkenlust, dear little FrÄulein,” said he; “and His Excellency, methinks, would be better pleased”....

I stayed to hear no more, but ran off at full speed down the terraces, straight to the Round Point and the fountain, and along the great avenue that led to Falkenlust. I ran till I was out of breath—then rested—then ran again, on, and on, and on, till the road lengthened and narrowed behind me, and the ChÂteau of Augustenburg looked almost as small in the distance at one end as the Falkenlust Lodge at the other.

Then all at once, far, far away, I saw a moving group of figures. They grew larger and more distinct—they were coming towards me! I had run till I could run no farther. Panting and breathless, I leaned against a tree, and waited.

And now, as they drew nearer, I saw that the group consisted of some eight or ten officers, two of whom were walking somewhat in advance of the rest. One of the two wore a plain cocked hat and an undress military frock; the other was in full uniform, and wore two or three glittering medals on his breast. This other was my father. I scarcely looked at the first. I never even asked myself whether he was, or was not the King. I had no eyes, no thought for any but my father.

So I stood, eager and breathless, on the verge of the gravel. So they every moment drew nearer the spot where I was standing. As they came close, my father's eyes met mine. He shook his head, and frowned. He thought I had come there to stare at the King.

Nothing daunted, I took two steps forward. I had Monsieur Maurice's card in my hand. I held it out to him.

“Read it,” I said. “It is from Monsieur Maurice.”

But he crushed it in his hand without looking at it, and waved me back authoritatively.

“At once!” I cried; “at once!”

The gentleman in the blue frock stopped and smiled.

“Is this your little girl, Colonel Bernhard?” he asked.

My father replied by a low bow.

The strange gentleman beckoned me to draw nearer.

“A golden-haired little MÄdchen!” said he. “Come hither, pretty one, and tell me your name.”

I knew then that he was the King. I trembled and blushed.

“My name is Gretchen,” I said.

“And you have brought a letter for your father?”

“It is not a letter,” I said. “It is a card. It is from Monsieur Maurice.”

“And who is Monsieur Maurice?” asked the King.

“So please your Majesty,” said my father, answering the question for me, “Monsieur Maurice is the prisoner I hold in charge.”

The smile went out of the King's face.

“The prisoner!” he repeated, inquiringly. “What prisoner?”

“The state-prisoner whom I received, according to your Majesty's command, eight months ago—Monsieur Maurice.”

“Monsieur Maurice!” echoed the King.

“I know the gentleman by no other name, please your Majesty,” said my father.

The King looked grave.

“I never heard of Monsieur Maurice,” he said, “I know of no state-prisoner here.”

“The prisoner was consigned to my keeping by your Majesty's Minister of War,” said my father.

“By von Bulow?”

My father bowed.

“Upon whose authority?”

“In your Majesty's name.”

The King frowned.

“What papers did you receive with your prisoner, Colonel Bernhard?” he said.

“None, your Majesty—except a despatch from your Majesty's Minister of War, delivered a day or two before the prisoner arrived at BrÜhl.”

“How did he come? and where did he come from?”

“He came in a close carriage, your Majesty, attended by two officers who left BrÜhl the same night and whose names and persons are unknown to me. I do not know where he came from. I only know that they had taken the last relay of horses from Cologne.”

“You were not told his offence?”

“I was told nothing, your Majesty, except that Monsieur Maurice was an enemy to the state, and—”

“And what?”

My father's hand went up to his moustache, as it was wont to do in perplexity.

“I—so please your Majesty, I think there is some foul mystery in it at bottom,” he said, bluntly. “There hath been that thing proposed to me that I am ashamed to repeat. I do beseech your Majesty that some investigation....”

His eyes happened for a moment to rest upon the card. He stammered—changed colour—stopped short in his sentence—took off his hat—laid the card upon it—and so handed it to the King.

His Majesty Frederick William the Third of Prussia was, like most of the princes of his house, tanned, soldierly, and fresh-complexioned; but florid as he was, there came a darker flush into his face as he read what Monsieur Maurice had written.

“An attempt upon his life!” he exclaimed. “The thing is not possible.”

My father was silent. The king looked at him keenly.

“Is it possible, Colonel Bernhard?” he said.

“I think it may be possible, your Majesty,” replied my father in a low voice.

The King frowned.

“Colonel Bernhard,” he said, “how can that be? You are responsible for the safety as well as the person of any prisoner committed to your charge.”

“So long as the prisoner is left wholly to my charge I can answer for his safety with my head, so please your Majesty,” said my father, reddening; “but not when he is provided with a special attendant over whom I have no control.”

“What special attendant? Where did he come from? Who sent him?”

“I believe he came from Berlin, your Majesty. He was sent by your Majesty's Minister of War. His name is Hartmann.”

The King stood thinking. His officers had fallen out of earshot, and were talking together in a little knot some four yards behind. I was still standing on the spot to which the King had called me. He looked round, and saw my anxious face.

“What, still there, little one?” he said. “You have not heard what we were saying?”

“Yes,” I said; “I heard it.”

“The child may have heard, your Majesty,” interposed my father, hastily; “but she did not understand. Run home, Gretchen. Make thy obeisance to his Majesty, and run home quickly.”

But I had understood every word. I knew that Monsieur Maurice's life had been in danger. I knew the King was all-powerful. Terrified at my own boldness—terrified at the thought of my father's anger—trembling—sobbing—scarcely conscious of what I was saying, I fell at the King's feet, and cried:—

“Save him—save him, Sire! Don't let them kill poor Monsieur Maurice! Forgive him—please forgive him, and let him go home again!”

My father seized me by the hand, forced me to rise, and dragged me back more roughly than he had ever touched me in his life.

“I beseech your Majesty's pardon for the child,” he said. “She knows no better.”

But the King smiled, and called me back to him.

“Nay, nay,” he said, laying his hand upon my head, “do not be vexed with her. So, little one, you and Monsieur Maurice are friends?”

I nodded; for I was still crying, and too frightened at what I had done to be able to speak.

“And you love him dearly?”

“Better than anyone—in the world—except Papa,” I faltered, through my tears.

“Not better than your brothers and sisters?”

“I have no brothers and sisters,” I replied, my courage coming back again by degrees. “I have no one but Papa, and Monsieur Maurice, and Aunt Martha Baur—and I love Monsieur Maurice a thousand, thousand times more than Aunt Martha Baur!”

There came a merry sparkle into the King's eyes, and my father turned his face away to conceal a smile.

“But if Monsieur Maurice was free, he would go away and you would never see him again. What would you do then?”

“I—should be very sorry,” I faltered; “but”....

“But what?”

“I would rather he went away, and was happy.”

The King stooped down and kissed me on the brow.

“That, my little MÄdchen, is the answer of a true friend,” he said, gravely and kindly. “If your Monsieur Maurice deserves to go free, he shall have his liberty. You have our royal word for it. Colonel Bernhard, we will investigate this matter without the delay of an hour.”

Saying thus, he turned from me to my father, and, followed by his officers, passed on in the direction of the ChÂteau.

I stood there speechless, his gracious words yet ringing in my ears. He had left me no time for thanks, if even I could have framed any. But he had kissed me—he had promised me that Monsieur Maurice should go free, “if he deserved it!” and who better than I knew how impossible it was that he should not deserve it? It was all true. It was not a dream. I had the King's royal word for it.

I had the King's royal word for it—and yet I could hardly believe it!

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