"You do not ask to be forgiven, and I like that. I have judges in Dreiberg. I could have you tried and condemned for high treason, shot or imprisoned for life. But to-night I shall not use this prerogative. You have, perhaps, three hours to get your things in order. To-morrow you will be judged and condemned. But you, Hildegarde—"
"No, your Highness; we shall both take the train for Paris. Gretchen, you will be happy."
Gretchen ran and flung herself into Hildegarde's arms; and the two of them wept. Hildegarde pushed Gretchen away gently.
"Come, father, we have so little time."
And this was the sum of the duke's revenge.
It never took Carmichael long to make up his mind definitely. He found his old friend the cabman in the Platz, and they drove like mad to the consulate. An hour here sufficed to close his diplomatic career and seal it hermetically. The clerk, however, would go on like Tennyson's brook, for ever and for ever. Next he went to the residence of his banker in the König Strasse and got together all his available funds. Eleven o'clock found him in his rooms at the Grand Hotel, feverishly packing his trunk and bag. Paris! He would go, also, even if they passed on to the remote ends of the world.
The train stood waiting in the gloomy Bahnhof. The guards patrolled the platform. Presently three men came out of the station door. Two were officers; the third, Colonel von Wallenstein, was in civilian dress. He was sullen and depressed.
Said one of the officers: "And it is the express command of General Ducwitz that you will return here under the pain of death. Is that explicit?"
"It is." The colonel got into his compartment and slammed the door viciously.