"Go and scribble no more," added the Chancellor.
I could hear them laughing as I made my escape from the room. It could not be expected of me to join them. And Gretchen was as far away as ever. Phyllis love me? It was absurd. Gretchen had played me the fool. She had been laughing at me all the time. Yet, she had begged my life of the Prince, and on her knees. Or, was it a lie of his? Oh, it seemed to me that my brain would never become clear again.
In the afternoon at four I was ushered into the boudoir of Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth. It was Phyllis no longer; Phyllis had passed; and I became conscious of a vague regret.
"I am glad," she said, "that you were able to come. I wanted to speak to you about—about my sister."
"Your Highness—"
She laughed. "Our interview shall end at once if you call me by that title. Sir," with a gaiety which struck me as unnatural, "you are witnessing the passing of Phyllis. It will not be long before she shall pass away and never more return, and the name shall fade till it becomes naught but a dear memory. Phyllis has left the green pastures for the city, and Corydon followeth not."
"Phyllis," said I, "you are cutting me to the heart."
"But to the matter at hand," she said quickly. "There is a misunderstanding between you and my sister Hildegarde. She sent me this letter. Read it."
It differed but little from the one I had read in the King's chamber that morning. I gave it back to her.
"Do you understand?"