So he came on, impatiently, and yet dreading to reach his journey’s end.
When he arrived at the forester’s lodge, he found no one waiting to receive him. He passed through the gate and took his way to the arbour, where he sat down alone.
But Dorothea had watched for his coming, and when she saw him she set the flagon and the unbroken glass on a tray, and brought them out to him.
He rose up at her entrance, and looked at her steadfastly, but he did not venture to embrace her as of old. She greeted him with a new deference, which had taken the place of her former shy friendliness, and poured out the cider for him to drink, and waited.
“Sit down, my child,” he said gravely, setting her the example. “So they have told you who I am at last?”
“Yes, Sire.”
She sat down, but not on the same seat with him, nor did he seem to expect it.
“No, Dorothea, you are not to call me that. Let me still be the Herr Maurice when I am here, at least.”
There followed a pause which it was difficult for either of them to break. At last Maximilian said—
“Do you remember what you said to me yesterday about sinking through the earth if the poor King caught sight of you? You won’t feel like that any more, will you?”