He sat down at the writing-table. He found the few words needed hard to choose. He crossed them out and altered them again and again--it was the first lie that that hand had ever set down.
At length he had finished. The telegram read as follows:
"George Berger, Bolosch. End desired as good as attained. Have procured postponement till recovery of decisive arbiter. Return to-morrow comforted. Victor."
He then drove with Count Karolberg to his house and spent the evening there in the circle of his relations. He was quiet and cheerful at he used to be, and when he took his leave of the lady of the house to go to the station, he jokingly invited himself to dinner on the 22d of February.
The weather had completely changed, since the morning heavy snow had fallen: the Bolosch train had to wait a long time at the next station till the snow-ploughs had cleared the line, and it was not till late next morning that it reached its destination. Sendlingen was deeply moved that, notwithstanding, the first face he saw on getting out of the train, was that of his faithful friend. And at the same time it frightened him: for how could he look him in the face?
But in his impetuous joy, Berger did not observe how Sendlingen shrank at his gaze. "At last!" he cried, embracing him, and with moistened eyes, he pressed his hand, incapable of uttering a word.
"Thank you!" said Sendlingen in an uncertain voice. "It--it came upon you as a surprise?"
"You may imagine that!" cried Berger. "Soon after your departure, I heard the news of the attempt on the Emperor's life. I thought all was lost and was about to hurry to you when your telegram came. And then, picture my delight! I sent for Franz--the old man was mad with joy!"
They had come out to the front of the station and had got into Berger's sleigh. "To my house!" he called to the driver!
"What are you thinking of?" asked Sendlingen.