n his narrow camp-bed and thought.
He had not confided all his worries to the King.

Evidences of renewed activity on the part of the Terrorists were many.
In the past month two of his best secret agents had disappeared. One had
been found the day before, stabbed in the back. The Chancellor had
seen the body--an unpleasant sight. But it was not of the dead man that
General Mettlich thought. It was of the other. The dead tell nothing.
But the living, under torture, tell many things. And this man Haeckel,
young as he was, knew much that was vital. Knew the working of the
Secret Service, the names of the outer circle of twelve, knew the codes
and passwords, knew, too the ways of the palace, the hidden room
always ready for emergency, even the passage that led by devious ways,
underground, to a distant part of the great park.

At five General Mettlich had risen, exercised before an open window with
an old pair of iron dumbbells, had followed this with a cold bath and
hot coffee, and had gone to early Mass at the Cathedral.

And there, on his knees, he had prayed for a little help. He was, he
said, getting old and infirm, and he had been too apt all his life to
rely on his own right arm. But things were getting rather difficult. He
prayed to Our Lady for intercession for the little Prince. He felt, in
his old heart, that the Mother would understand the situation, and
how he felt about it. And he asked in a general supplication, and very
humbly, for a few years more of life. Not that life meant anything to
him personally. He had outlived most of those he loved. But that he
might serve the King, and after him the boy who would be Otto IX. He
added, for fear they might not understand, having a great deal to
look after, that he had earned all this by many years of loyalty, and
besides, that he knew the situation better than any one else.

He felt much better after that. Especially as, at the moment he rose
from his knees, the cathedral clock had chimed and then struck seven.
He had found seven a very lucky number, So now he entered the boudoir of
the Archduchess Annunciata, and the Countess went out another door, and
closed it behind her, immediately opening it about an inch.

The Chancellor strode around the screen, scratching two tables with his
sword as he advanced, and kissed the hand of the Princess Annunciata.
They were old enemies and therefore always very polite to each other.
The Archduchess offered him a cup of tea