Henry W. Fischer

My titled servants withdraw from me—An old footman my sole support—Queen takes the children—Old Andrew plays spy for me.

Afternoon.

No one has come to see me. My household, my adjutants, marshal, chamberlains, equerries, the ladies of my entourage are on duty, but since I ordered my meals brought to the room, they pretend to assume that I'm too ill to see anyone. There may be no truth in the saying that rats leave the ship destined to sink, but the titled vermin royalty surrounds itself with certainly knows when to avoid dangerous craft.

I rang for Andrew. The good, old man wouldn't put me to the humiliation of asking questions.

"Your Imperial Highness's children are with Her Majesty," he said; and, coming a step nearer, he added in an undertone: "Baroness Tisch has been with His Majesty since nine in the morning."

"You are a kind and brave man." I held out my hand.

"If Your Imperial Highness has no immediate orders for me," continued the good soul, "I beg to be allowed to visit my friend, Hans, the King's body-servant."

I thanked Andrew for his good intentions. "Wait in the ante-chamber until I am dressed."

I donned a forty-mark costume that I keep on hand for the purpose; it didn't take me more than six or seven minutes.

"I will have to leave by the secret staircase, Andrew."

He understood and cleared the way for me.