"It is not broken, Highness," said Grumbach; "only the chain has come apart." Then he handed it to her gravely.
"Thank you!" Her highness put both chain and locket into a small purse which she carried in her belt, touched the mare, and sped up the road, Carmichael following.
Grumbach returned to the parapet. He followed them till they passed out of sight beyond the gates.
"Gott!" he murmured.
His face was as livid as the scar on his head.
CHAPTER XV
THE WRONG MAN
Herbeck dropped his quill, and there was a dream in his eyes. His desk was littered with papers, well covered with ink; flowing sentences, and innumerable figures. He was the watch-dog of the duchy. Never a bill from the Reichstag that did not pass under his cold eye before it went to the duke for his signature, his approval, or veto. Not a copper was needlessly wasted, and never was one held back unnecessarily. Herbeck was just both in great and little things. The commoners could neither fool nor browbeat him.
The dream in his eyes grew; it was tender and kindly. The bar of sunlight lengthened across his desk, and finally passed on. Still he sat there, motionless, rapt. And thus the duke found him. But there was no dream in his eyes; they were cold with implacable anger. He held a letter in his hand and tossed it to Herbeck.