“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.