One of old Eberhard's sayings occurred to him: "When you are not in the presence of royalty," were the old man's words, "it esteems you as little better than the servants who wait out in the vestibules, or on the steps, with warm mantles for their masters. They go on playing, dancing, laughing and jesting; but which of them stops to think of those who are waiting outside, who have aching legs and are overcome with sleep. But, nevertheless, there you must be, and that without a murmur."
He felt a touch of Eberhard's deep scorn. He, too, was a servant, who, while waiting in the ante-chamber, had been forgotten by his master.
When, at a late hour, the king sent him word that he might retire, he nodded his thanks. He has remembered you after all, thought he to himself. Many thanks. Of course they would be less ashamed of a companion in crime.
CHAPTER VI.
The mountains were still covered with the mists of morning, when the king sent for Colonel Bronnen. The latter entered with a respectful air. The king advanced toward him and said:
"Good-morning, dear Bronnen!" His voice was hoarse; he looked pale and unrefreshed. He took a sheet of paper from the table and said:
"There is the proof that I promised you. Read it." Bronnen read it and looked at the king in astonishment.
"Do you know the handwriting?" asked the king. "I do not recognize the handwriting, but the great mind seems familiar. I believe--"
"You are right--they are the last words that our lost friend left for me."
With a certain air of solemnity, Bronnen again placed the letter upon the table. He did not venture to say a word.