“This morning, your majesty, about four o’clock, Cousin Fritz suddenly appeared, as if by magic, among us. He ordered us to make a bundle of things most necessary for the Princess Hilda’s comfort. Then he went away, accompanied by her royal highness’ favorite attendant.”
Carl Eingen gazed at the speaker earnestly, while Wilhelm said:
“Her favorite attendant? Who may that be?”
“The Fraulein Müller, your majesty.”
Carl Eingen’s face turned white. He had long loved Fraulein Müller, and her non-attendance upon Wilhelm had filled him with dismay. “Weren’t you in the cellars at that hour, Herr Eingen?” asked Wilhelm sternly.
“I was, your majesty—with twenty men with torches.”
“And you heard no sound—no footsteps—no echoes?”
“None, your majesty, that the vastness of the vaults would not explain.”
The usurper sat silent for a time, deep in thought. Now and again one of the waiting-women would sob hysterically. Carl Eingen’s impatience grew apace. He longed for action, for some physical outlet for the anxiety that oppressed him. He had seen little of Fraulein Müller since she had been taken into the household of the Princess Hilda, but his boyhood had been spent in her companionship. He could not remember the time when he had not loved her. Her bright face and sunny nature had been to him for years a solace and a hope. That she had been lured into the perils that surrounded the path of the royal fugitives, he could not now doubt. The conviction filled him with dismay. He longed to begin at once a renewal of the fruitless search he had made in the early morning. He watched the changing expressions on Wilhelm’s face anxiously. Presently the usurper spoke: