“Mademoiselle von Marwitz, have the goodness to bring the manuscript my brother wishes; it is partly written by Voltaire’s own hand. You will find it in the bureau in my dressing-room.”
Mademoiselle Marwitz withdrew to get the manuscript; as she left the room, she looked back suspiciously at Pollnitz and, as if by accident, left the door open which led to the dressing-room.
Mademoiselle Marwitz had scarcely disappeared, before Pollnitz sprang forward, with youthful agility, and closed the door.
“Princess, this commission of Prince Henry’s was only a pretext. I took this order from the princess’s maitre d’hotel in order to approach your highness unnoticed, and to get rid of the watchful eyes of your Marwitz. Now listen well; Weingarten, the Austrian secretary of Legation, was with me to-day.”
“Ah, Weingarten,” murmured the princess, tremblingly; “he gave you a letter for me; quick, quick, give it to me.”
“No, he gave me no letter; it appears that he, who formerly sent letters, is no longer in the condition to do so.”
“He is dead!” cried Amelia with horror, and sank back as if struck by lightning.
“No, princess, he is not dead, but in great danger. It appears that Weingarten is in great need of money; for a hundred louis d’or, which I promised him, he confided to me that Trenck’s enemies had excited the suspicions of the king against him, and declared that Trenck had designs against the life of Frederick.”
“The miserable liars and slanderers!” cried Amelia, contemptuously.
“The king, as it appears, believes in these charges; he has written to his resident minister to demand of the senate of Dantzic the delivery of Trenck.”