d
suddenly been filled. He pressed his hand to his throbbing heart.

He rang the bell and sent word to Bronnen that he might retire. He sent
his body-servant away and retired to his room alone.

Bronnen had been waiting for hours, expecting to be sent for at any
moment, and was now busy conjecturing why this had not been done.

Could Irma's death have had more than a mere passing influence upon the
king, or had it really helped to reconcile him with the law of life?
What proof of his confidence did the king mean to bestow upon him? And
when Bronnen had waited for hours, without receiving a message from the
king, he could not repress a feeling of resentment. Who could tell?
Perhaps the king had forgotten him? He had joined him for a while in a
plaintive duet; but now all was over. That piece had been played and,
as with a concert programme, a new one was to come.

One of old Eberhard's sayings occurred to him: "When you are not in the
presence of royalty," were the old man's words, "it esteems you as
little better than the servants who wait out in the vestibules, or on
the steps, with warm mantles for their masters. They go on playing,
dancing, laughing and jesting; but which of them stops to think of
those who are waiting outside, who have aching legs and are overcome
with sleep. But, nevertheless, there you must be, and that without a
murmur."

He felt a touch of Eberhard's deep scorn. He, too, was a servant, who,
while waiting in the ante-chamber, had been forgotten by his master.

When, at a late hour, the king sent him word that he might retire, he
nodded his thanks. He has remembered you after all, thought he to
himself. Many thanks. Of course they would be less ashamed of a
companion in crime.

CHAPTER VI.

The mountains were still covered with the mists of morning, when the
king sent for Colonel Bronnen. The latter entered with a respectful
air. The king advanced toward him and said:

"Good-morning, dear Bronnen!" His voice was hoarse; he looked pale and
unrefreshed. He took a sheet of paper from the table and said:

"There is the proof that I promised you. Read it." Bronnen read it and
looked at the king in astonishment.

"Do you know the handwriting?" asked the king. "I do not recognize the
handwriting, but the great mind seems familiar. I believe--"

"You are right--they are the last words that our lost friend left for
me."

With a certain air of solemnity,