'Your trial will take place soon, Excellency,' he said. 'It has been retarded by his Highness's illness; that being over, the matter will proceed.'
The man rubbed his hands in self-satisfaction. He was persuaded that the authorities in Stuttgart had chosen him for his qualities of mind and knowledge of law, and he had become a very important personage in his own estimation and in that of his cronies in the village.
'His Highness's illness, Herr Märkle? I pray you tell me what has ailed the Duke?' Her voice shook a little, but the man had spoken so airily that she could not believe the Duke's illness had been serious.
'Ah, Excellency! you were unaware of the sad circumstances? Yes, truly, a long and painful malady; lung trouble it was.'
'It is over then? quite passed? I rejoice,' she returned.
'Yes, Excellency; it ended a week ago. His Highness died in his sleep.'
She looked at him for a full moment as one deaf, who, knowing some one has spoken some word, hears not and wonders pitifully. The notary had turned away and busied himself with writings and documents on the table. Already his thoughts were rehearsing a wonderful oration he would speak, a masterpiece of pleading. What a great man he was, to be sure! Of course, he would move to Stuttgart. His ambition soared—surely a very great lawyer.
A rustle of silken garments in the room behind him, and two hands fell on his shoulders: hands of iron they seemed.
'Say that again; you do not know what you have said.' It was a strange voice which spoke: a voice so hoarse, so toneless, that the fat little man trembled, recalling in a flash the stories of witches' transformation into ravening wolves or terrible demons. He wriggled round. The Grävenitz stood over him, her hands upon his shoulders, her eyes like two flames scanning his face.
'Say what, Excellency? I do not know——' The trivial fact of the Duke's death and of this woman's agony had been lost for him in his dream of his own judicial splendour.