CHAPTER XIII.

The king was at the hunt. The queen was ill. Life at court went on as
usual. The ladies and gentlemen dined at the marshal's table, and
conversed upon different subjects. They were cheerful, for it was their
duty to maintain the accustomed tone.

It was the fourth day after the receipt of the terrible news. It was
after dinner, and the ladies were sitting under the so-called
"mushroom," a round, vine-covered arbor, situated at the edge of the
mountain vineyards. The roof rested, at the center, on a column and, in
the distance, resembled an open umbrella, or a gigantic mushroom. They
were delighted to have a chance to talk of the preparations for the
betrothal of Princess Angelica. They spoke in praise of her noble
traits, although she was merely a simple, modest good-hearted girl.
They had the court catechism, the genealogical calendar, before them;
for dispute had arisen as to the degree in which the mediatized Prince
Arnold was related, on his grandmother's side, to the reigning house.
Their conversation, however, was simply a makeshift.

Some one remarked that the intendant had returned from his journey. No
one, however, knew what adventures he had passed through. They all knew
that there had been deaths by shooting and drowning, but as to the
"who" and the "how," they were as yet ignorant.

They felt quite happy when they saw the intendant coming in person.
They welcomed him in a half-pitying, half-teasing tone. He seemed quite
exhausted by his recent experiences. They offered him the most
comfortable chair and, placing it in the center of the group, begged
him to tell them everything. Although this general homage was not
without a touch of irony, the intendant felt quite flattered by it, and
was, as usual, ready to play the agreeable. He was always willing to
sacrifice everything, not excepting himself, for the sake of being in
favor.

He began by telling them of Bruno's deep grief: but that did not
interest them. Very well--"as you don't care to hear of Bruno, we'll
pass him by." He then went on to give a cleverly arranged account of
the terrible death of Baum, who, like a true servant, had been obliged
to give up his life for another. However, the death had not been an
undeserved one, for he had denied his mother and kindred, and, at last,
fell by the hand of his own brother, who immediately afterward killed
himself.

The intendant's audience were horror-struck, and found it wond