She stepped to a cupboard in the wall beside the fireplace, and drew forth the silver flagon. She had taken in her hand the famous glass out of which Maximilian was accustomed to drink; but after a moment’s hesitation she put it back again, and chose the one with the slight flaw in its rim.
“This is a very old glass; I hope you will not mind its being chipped,” she said, as she filled it with the bright liquid, and offered it to the Princess.
“You need not make any excuses,” the Princess answered. “A glass which is good enough for a king to drink out of is surely good enough for me.”
Dorothea gave a great start, and turned a pained, questioning look on the speaker, who only smiled in return.
“Why do you say that, Madam? Who has told you about the King?” asked the agitated girl.
The Princess put on a look of amused surprise.
“My dear child, surely you did not suppose it was such a secret? The King of Franconia cannot come day after day to the same place without people hearing of it. I ought to congratulate you. His Majesty is said to be very much charmed with—your cider.”
The meaning smile which accompanied these last words went like a stab through the shrinking girl, coming as it did in the wake of the explosion which had taken place that afternoon.
“Please do not talk like that,” she implored. “I assure you, Madam, that up to an hour ago I never even dreamt that he was the King. His Majesty called himself simply Herr Maurice when he was here, and I looked upon him as merely a young gentleman of the Court. And indeed he never did or said anything to make me think of him as anything more than a friend. And it was all so innocent and pleasant up till to-day. And then Johann saw him, and told me who he was, and hinted at such terrible things that he made me weep.”
At this name of Johann a look of vivid intelligence flashed from Hermengarde’s eyes. It was scarcely an hour since she had heard that name under circumstances which made it difficult for her to have forgotten it.