s hand, as if to grasp these tokens, and then drew
it back and pressed it to his heart. He stared at Baum and seemed lost
in surprise.

"What does it all mean?" he asked, raising his hand to his head, as if
to smooth down his hair which stood on end.

"Your Majesty," continued Baum, who himself trembled when he saw the
king's agitated manner, "the countess wore these articles when she rode
out with me and ran away."

"Ran away? and--"

Baum laid his hand on his watch, and, although he could not see the
dial, he counted the seconds, nevertheless; after which he softly
answered:

"The countess drowned herself in the lake last night--no, it was night
before last. The boatman saw the body of a female rise on the waters
and sink again; and tomorrow, which is the third day, the lake will
give her up."

The king motioned him to stop--it was enough--his hand trembled; he
grasped the back of a chair to support himself, and stared at the hat
and shoes.

Baum dropped his eyes. He felt that the king's gaze was fixed upon him,
but he still kept looking on the floor, which seemed to be rising and
lifting the lackey to the level of the throne. In his mind's eye, he
already beheld himself at the king's side, and as the confidant of
royalty. Baum modestly inclined his head still lower. He heard the king
pacing the room, but still he did not look up.

"A downcast air," thought he, "betokens perfect obedience and
unqualified devotion." The king now stopped before him.

"How do you know it was suicide?"

"I don't know. If it is Your Majesty's pleasure, the countess was
drowned by others--"

"My pleasure? I? How?"

"I humbly beg Your Majesty's permission--may I tell all?"

"You must--!"

Summoning all his strength, Baum now said:

"Your Majesty, I found the shoes myself, but I got the hat from a man
who is fit to do anything--the gend'arme thinks--that it may perhaps be
good for the man--he might be pardoned at the end of a year and sent to
America--a brother of his--is said to be--there--"

"You speak incoherently."

Baum regained his self-command.

"She may have been murdered by some poacher. The worst of it all is
that she sent a letter to her majesty the queen."

"A letter to the queen! Where is it? Give it to me!"

"I haven't it, the maid snatched it from me."

The king sat down.

For a long while, not a sound was heard but the rapid ticking of the
clock that stood on the writing-table.

The king arose