I jumped up. I bade Bertha dress me quickly. “I must go to papa,” I said. “I have a card for him from Monsieur Maurice.”
“Nay, liebe Gretchen,” said Bertha, “he is with the King.”
But I told myself that I would find him, and see him, and give the card into his own hands, though a dozen kings were in the way. I could not read what was written on the card. I could read print easily and rapidly, but handwriting not at all. I knew, however, that it was urgent. Had he not said that it was matter of life or death?
I hurried to dress; I hurried to get out. I could not rest, I could not eat till I had given up the card. As good fortune would have it, the first person I met was Corporal Fritz. I asked him where I could find my father.
“Dear little Fräulein,” said Corporal Fritz, “you cannot see him just yet. He is with the King.”
“But I must see him,” I said. “I must—indeed, I must. Go to him for me—please go to him, dear, good Corporal Fritz, and tell him his little Gretchen must speak to him, if only for one moment!”
“But dear little Fräulein”....
“Is the King at breakfast?” I interrupted.
“At breakfast! Eh, then, our gallant King hath a soldier's habits. His Majesty breakfasted at six this morning, and is gone out betimes to visit his hunting-lodge at Falkenlust.”
“And my father?”