At this I again broke down completely.
"Oh, Max!" I faltered, "do not talk of us. What will anything mean to Ottilie and myself when we have lost you?"
As I spoke I thought of our boyhood, of the old, happy days in Pannonia, when we had been such firm and dear companions. I could recall nothing in Max's character that was not self-sacrificing, and to think that his life should end like this! I took his hand and held it tenderly in mine. Oh, why could I not give my life for his, and thus draw him back from that dark land into which he was so swiftly passing? That the end was very near there could be no doubt. Once more opening his eyes, which had remained closed for upwards of a minute, he whispered to me that he would like to bid farewell to the general and to the man who had been his companion in so many strange places and under such different circumstances. Accordingly, I went to the door and called them in. Groplau was the first to advance towards the bed. The old man was genuinely affected. Max looked up at him and gave him his hand. Not a word passed between them; indeed, speech was unnecessary. There was a long silence, a hand-grip, and then Groplau stepped back, and Bertram, the Englishman, took his place. He made no attempt to conceal his grief. "Good-bye," said Max. "You have been a good friend to me, Bertram; be as faithful to my brother. It is my wish that you should serve him. God bless you both!"
Bertram tried to speak, but his voice failed him, and he turned away with the tears streaming down his face. Then Max looked at me, and I went to him again.
"Paul," he said, but so feebly that I could scarcely hear the words, "it is very near now. God bless you, Paul. Kiss me, dear old brother; we've been——"
Stooping, I kissed him on the forehead, on which the dews of death were quickly gathering.
Then, softly as a tired child, he fell asleep.
Maximilian, the uncrowned King of Pannonia, was dead!