"Waldow!" cried the count, springing back from the window, "he has gone, and we have, God be thanked! no guard inside the house. We are unobserved."
"What good will that do us, Sir Count," sighed Waldow. "We can not leave the house, and your papers have been seized."
"Not my papers, Waldow! No, God be praised! not my papers!" exulted the count. "Did you not see that my writing desk was empty?"
"And what does that signify?"
"It signifies that my trusty steward von Wallenrodt understood my hint, and, while I detained Burgsdorf, abstracted and concealed my papers."
"Think you so?" asked Waldow, shrugging his shoulders. "It seems to me more likely that the steward has imitated the rats, who always forsake a sinking ship, and has gone off. The palace has been ransacked and von Wallenrodt was nowhere to be found. He has probably gone to the new Stadtholder, thinking to benefit himself by betraying you."
"You slander my faithful servant," said the count. "I know him better, and am confident that he will not betray me. Come, Waldow, accompany me to my father's cabinet.
"I will now show you that you have judged my steward falsely," he continued, when they had reached the cabinet.
"This apartment conceals a mystery, known only to my father, myself, and Wallenrodt. Now, you shall become acquainted with it, and learn at the same time that there is still good faith in the world."
He crossed the spacious apartment to the large mirror, which, reaching down to the floor, filled up the whole space between the windows. He pressed an ornament of the frame, and the mirror flew back, having become a door, which opened and revealed a niche concealed in the wall. From this niche stepped forth the steward, with a great roll of papers in his hand.