"Do you know," he then said, "what you remind me of? Of Davison, Queen Elizabeth's secretary, carrying the death warrant!"
Meding gave a melancholy smile.
"Alas!" he said, "the sheet of paper in my hand is perhaps the death warrant of many a brave heart now beating joyfully; thank God I am not answerable for it, I have only to perform my duty, which I never felt to be so painful as now. We shall meet in Göttingen, prince," he said, taking leave with a hasty pressure of the hand, he then hurried down the stairs and threw himself into his carriage.
Just at the brightly lighted, gilded iron gate of the outer court he met a long row of carriages driving to the castle.
The magistrates and the principal burghers of the capital were coming to take leave of the king. As the long file of carriages emerged from the avenue, they looked so dark against the bright light that they resembled a long black funeral, and shuddering involuntarily at this idea Meding leant back in his carriage and drove towards Hanover.
In the meantime Count Platen sat in his cabinet. A small lamp shed its light over the writing table covered, with letters and papers, before which he sat, his head leaning on his hand.
"Is there really no escape?" he cried at last, as he rose and paced up and down the room; "can we not recover the fine position we held?"
He looked thoughtfully from the window out into the warm starlight night.
"The concentration of the army is good," he said, "it shows we are in earnest, and not inclined to give way without resistance: that the king should go, is also good--it makes negotiation easier. Well, I believe," he cried in a tone of relief, "they will bethink themselves in Berlin after firing off this alarm gun, and will be satisfied if we accept neutrality. But even if we are obliged--they cannot abandon us in Vienna--and if Austria conquers!" A happy smile passed over his face, and flattering pictures of the future seemed unrolled before his mind.
The timepiece on his writing-table struck twelve.