The carnival drew to its end, the Count did not leave Nebigan.
Every day his steps were dogged by spies, but they could not learn anything. Nobody visited him from town. Every day the Count's servants would go to Dresden for provisions, but they had no intercourse with anyone except the shopkeepers.
The Count would spend whole days reading, conversing with his wife, and writing letters, but the spies never learned how they were sent.
One morning Brühl entered the King's room with a pile of papers. The King hated the mere sight of papers, and talk about intrigues. One word would make him sullen.
Brühl would shorten the disagreeable duty by handing to the King documents ready for his signature. Augustus III would sit at a table and would sign them like a machine, not looking at the documents; his signature was always the same, clear, precise, majestic and quiet.
That day, the King, having noticed the papers, was preparing to perform his onerous duty, but Brühl stood motionless, and did not unfold the documents.
An enquiring look made him speak.
'Sire,' he said, 'I have to-day such a disagreeable affair that for the sake of my lord's peace I should like not to speak about it.'
The King twisted his mouth.
'I would have preferred that somebody else should have done this, but nobody would take my place,' said Brühl sighing. 'Consequently I must speak myself.'