Baroness. I am thankful for that.—But what did Professor Ernst say? Why has he not answered his daughter's letter? Why has he hidden from her? Is he really irreconcilable?
Gran. Irreconcilable? He hates her!
Baroness. Good heavens!
Gran. And not only her, but every one that has made common cause with the King—every one!
Baroness. I suppose it was to be expected.—But won't you sit down?
Gran (bows, but remains standing). I had a talk with his doctor before I saw him. He had some hesitation about letting me in. It was a fortnight since his patient had been able to move. But when I told him my errand, and that I had come from the King, he let me see him.
Baroness. How did he look? He was a fine man once.
Gran. He was sitting in a big chair, a mere paralysed wreck of a man. But when he saw me and realised who I was—and probably, too, what my errand was—he found the strength not only to move, but to seize both his crutches and raise himself on them! I shall never forget his gaunt ashen-grey face, the feverish gleam in his sunken eyes, his unkempt hair and beard—
Baroness. He must have looked terrible!
Gran. He was like a creature from beyond the grave—with an eternity of hatred in his eyes!