“Do it, and God help you!” said the King, again with the flicker of amusement.
The Chancellor had gone home, walking heavily along the darkening streets. Once again he had conquered. The reins remained in his gnarled old hands. And he was about to put the honor of the country into the keeping of the son of Maria Menrad, whom he had once loved.
So now he sat in his study, and waited. A great meerschaum pipe, a stag’s head with branching antlers and colored dark with years of use, lay on his tray; and on his knee, but no longer distinguishable in the dusk, lay an old daguerreotype of Maria Menrad.
When he heard Nikky’s quick step as he came along the tiled passage, he slipped the case into the pocket of his shabby house-coat, and picked up the pipe.
Nikky saluted, and made his way across the room in the twilight, with the ease of familiarity. “I am late, sir,” he apologized. “We found our man and he is safely jailed. He made no resistance.”
“Sit down,” said the Chancellor. And, touching a bell, he asked Mathilde for coffee. “So we have him,” he reflected. “The next thing is to discover if he knows who his assailants were. That, and the person for whom he acted—However, I sent for you for another reason. What is this about the Princess Hedwig?”
“The Princess Hedwig!”
“What folly, boy! A young girl who cannot know her own mind! And for such a bit of romantic trifling you would ruin yourself. It is ruin. You know that.”
“I am sorry,” Nikky said simply. “As far as my career goes, it does not matter. But I am thinking of her.”
“A trifle late.”