“My lord,” said she most graciously, and yet very sadly, “you lighten the burden on me no less by your help than because I no longer feel your honor stained through me. Come, we will go to the palace.” And she went to him, saying, “We will go together.”
There was nothing for it but to trust him. I knew that I could not turn her.
“Then I’ll see if the carriage is ready,” said I.
“Yes, do, Fritz,” said the queen. But as I passed she stopped me for a moment, saying in a whisper, “Show that you trust him.”
I went and held out my hand to him. He took and pressed it.
“On my honor,” he said.
Then I went out and found Bernenstein sitting on a bench in the hall. The lieutenant was a diligent and watchful young man; he appeared to be examining his revolver with sedulous care.
“You can put that away,” said I rather peevishly—I had not fancied shaking hands with Rischenheim. “He’s not a prisoner any longer. He’s one of us now.”
“The deuce he is!” cried Bernenstein, springing to his feet.
I told him briefly what had happened, and how the queen had won Rupert’s instrument to be her servant.