With the first streak of dawn he rose, and went and looked at himself in a mirror which decorated the wall over the fireplace. The sight of his own aspect made him shrink. Withdrawing into a neighbouring apartment, furnished as a dressing-room, he made a hurried toilette, remembering for the first time to exchange the disguise in which he had been arrested for clothes a little less inconsistent with his rank. This done, he rang for his attendants, snatched a hasty breakfast, and departed in a closed carriage to take the first train for Neustadt.
There was another passenger at the railway station, also setting out for the King’s destination, a passenger whose form was shrouded in a long dark overcoat, while his face was overshadowed by a wide-brimmed hat. Maximilian caught a hasty glimpse of him in passing, but turned quickly away, making no sign nor gesture of recognition.
Two hours later the King was back in his apartments at the Castle, where his first act was to dispatch Karl in search of the musician Bernal. Not till he heard the well-known step of his old friend in the ante-room did his face relax for an instant from the expression of nervous dread and wretchedness which had haunted it ever since his sojourn in the prison.
But when Bernal entered the King’s presence there was a constraint in his manner which was new in Maximilian’s experience of him. Instead of welcoming his friend with open arms, the musician stood aloof, coldly waiting to be addressed.
It instantly struck the King that this coolness arose from jealousy at his departure in the Socialist’s company, without having taken Auguste into his confidence, and he hastened to apologise for this breach of friendship. But the musician was not at once appeased.
“It is the first time in all these years that you have treated me so,” he said reproachfully. “Of course I know I have no right to be consulted as to your political designs, but there was a time when you would not have gone away like that, without even a word to let me know where you were, and when I might expect to see you again.”
Jealousy is sometimes the most grateful proof of affection. To Maximilian, at this moment, there was something consoling in his friend’s complaint. He laid his hand with a caressing touch on the other’s arm.
“I am sorry, Auguste, indeed,” he said mildly. “I admit I was wrong. I can only tell you that no one ever repented anything more than I have done this expedition. Would to God that I had had you by my side last night!”
And he proceeded to give a brief sketch of his adventures. When he came to the conversation with the man who had been intruded into his cell, the musician gave him a look of anxious inquiry.
“Yes,” said Maximilian in answer to the unspoken question, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I recognised him almost from the first minute. It was Dr. Krauss.”