“It is hard, baron,” the physician replied; “but do not be too anxious, the patient is young and strong. This evening it will be all over, and you will receive a tranquillising despatch.”
“Oh yes! You mean to send good news in any case, because the opposite would do no good! But I will have the truth! Listen, doctor! I must have your most sacred word of honour on it. The whole truth. Only on this condition could a tranquillising account really give me tranquillity. Otherwise I should think it all a lie. So swear to do this.”
The physician gave the promise required.
“O my poor, poor husband”—the thought cut me to the soul—“even if you receive the news to-day that your Martha is lying on her deathbed, you cannot turn back to close her eyes! You have something more important on hand—the claims of the Augustenburgs to a throne.”
“Frederick!” I cried out loud.
He flew to my side. At this moment the clock struck. He had now only a minute or two. But we were cheated out of even this last respite, for another attack seized me, and instead of the words of adieu, I could only utter groans of anguish.
“Go, baron—finish this scene,” said the physician, “for the patient such excitement is dangerous.”
One more kiss, and he rushed out. My cries and the doctor’s last word, “dangerous,” gave him his dismissal.
In what frame of mind must he have been when he departed? The local newspapers of Olmütz gave this report next day:—
“Yesterday the—th Regiment left our town with music playing and banners waving, to gain fresh laurels for themselves in the sea-surrounded brotherland. Cheerful courage filled the ranks; one could see the joy of battle glowing in the men’s eyes——” and so on, and so on.