“Sire, I have no dispatches.”
“A verbal message, then. Speak.”
“Sire, all is lost; Count Puebla suspects me.”
The king was startled for a moment, but collected himself immediately. “He suspects, but he is certain of nothing?”
“No, sire; but his suspicion amounts almost to certainty. Yesterday I was copying a dispatch which was to go that evening, and which was of the highest importance to your majesty, when I suddenly perceived Count Puebla standing beside me at my desk. He had entered my room very quietly, which showed that he had his suspicions, and was watching me. He snatched my copy from the desk and read it. ‘For whom is this?’ said he, in a threatening tone. I stammered forth some excuses; said that I intended writing a history, and that I took a copy of all dispatches for my work. He would not listen to me. ‘You are a traitor!’ said he, in a thundering voice. ‘I have suspected you for some time; I am now convinced of your treachery. You shall have an examination tomorrow; for to-night you will remain a prisoner in your room.’ He then locked my desk, put the key in his pocket, and, taking with him the dispatch and my copy, left the room. I heard him lock it and bolt my door. I was a prisoner.”
“How did you get out?” said the king.
“By the window, sire. And I flew here to throw myself at your majesty’s feet, and to beg for mercy and protection.”
“I promised you protection and help in case of your detection—I will fulfil my promise. What are your wishes. Let us see if they can be realized.”
“Will your majesty give me some sure place of refuge where Count Puebla’s threats cannot harm me?”
“You will remain here in the dwelling of the castle-warder until a suitable residence can be found for you. What next? What plans have you made for the future?”