The door behind them was opened hastily, and the banker Witte stepped in. He advanced to meet them with a quiet smile, but suddenly checked himself, and gazed with terror at the king.
“My God! his majesty the King of Prussia!” he stammered. “Oh! your majesty! what an undeserved favor you are doing my poor house in honoring it with your presence!”
“You know me, then?” said the king, smiling. “Well, I beg you may not betray my incognito, and cash for Frederick Zoller this draft of ten thousand crowns.”
He stepped forward to hand the banker the draft. Mr. Witte uttered a cry of horror, and, wringing his hands, fell upon his knees. He had just seen that the king was barefooted.
“Oh! your majesty! Mercy! mercy!” he pleaded. “Pardon my unhappy wife who could not dream of the crime she was committing. Why did your majesty consent to her insane demand? Why did you not peremptorily refuse to take off your shoes?”
“Why? Well, ma foi, because I wished to spare the King of Prussia a humiliation. I believe Madame Witte would rather have thrown me out of the house than allowed me to enter this sacred room with my shoes on.”
“No, your majesty, no. She would—”
At this moment the door opened, and Madame Witte, drawn by the loud voice of her husband, entered the room.
“Wife!” he cried, rising, “come forward; fall on your knees and plead for forgiveness.”
“What have I done?” she asked, wonderingly.