The sight of the change which had passed over the young man whom he had last seen in the pride of health and beauty, the cynosure of an attentive Court, struck Johann to the heart. He rushed forward and fell on his knees for the first time before the discrowned monarch.
“My King! My royal master! Look at me; it is I, your faithful Johann Mark.”
Maximilian thrust aside a mass of grey tangled locks, and turned a dull gaze upon the man whose voice had reached his ears.
“Ah!” he said, “it is you. I wondered where you were. Go to my aunt, the Princess Regent; she will take you into her favour like the rest.”
“No, no, Sire, do not speak to me like that. Do not think me a traitor. I have been away trying to organise a rising in your favour, but now I have come back to rescue you.”
“Fool, fool, I say,” answered Maximilian. “I have no rewards to give you. Why should you be more stupid than the others? They were wise enough to leave me—Von Sigismark, Auguste, Karl, all of them have gone. Why should you stay here?”
Johann struggled to maintain his composure.
“Your Majesty breaks my heart when you say such things. Can you not believe in me? I have come here by stealth, I know a secret path over the mountain by which we may escape together. Disguise yourself and come with me, and we will make our way to some distant land where your enemies cannot reach you.”
The King gravely shook his head.
“No, you do not understand. Have they not told you? I am mad. Where can a madman find refuge? I am better here—here among my faithful friends.”