“Trenck is not in Dantzic, but in Vienna.”
“He is in Dantzic—or, rather, he was there.”
“And now?”
“Now,” said Pollnitz, solemnly, “he is on the way to Konigsberg; from that point he will be transported to some other fortress; first, however, he will be brought to Berlin.”
The unhappy princess uttered a shriek, which sounded like a wild death-cry. “He is, then, a prisoner?”
“Yes; but, on his way to prison, so long as he does not cross the threshold of the fortress, it is possible to deliver him. Weingarten, who, it appears to me, is much devoted to your highness, has drawn for me the plan of the route, Trenck is to take. Here it is.” He handed the princess a small piece of paper, which she seized with trembling hands, and read hastily.
“He comes through Coslin,” said she, joyfully; “that gives a chance of safety in Coslin! The Duke of Wurtemberg, the friend of my youthful days, is in Coslin; he will assist me. Pollnitz, quick, quick, find me a courier who will carry a letter to the duke for me without delay.”
“That will be difficult, if not impossible,” said Pollnitz, thoughtfully.
Amelia sprang from her seat; her eyes had the old fire, her features their youthful expression and elasticity.
The power and ardor of her soul overcame the weakness of her body; it found energy and strength.