"A receipt?" repeated his host. "A receipt between gentlemen? A receipt for money which is given for the defense of the fatherland?"
"But I certainly cannot take all this money without something to show from whom I received it, and for what purpose. Give me at least a few words with your signature, Herr Count."
"That I will gladly do," responded the count, turning toward his desk, and coming face to face with Marie, who had descended from her throne.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, laying her hand on his arm.
"Write."
"Are you going to let strangers see your writing, and perhaps betray who you are?"
"In a week the strokes from my hand will tell who I am," he replied, with double meaning.
"Oh, you are terrible!" murmured Marie, turning her face away.
"I am so for your sake, Marie."
"For my sake?" echoed the young girl, sorrowfully. "For my sake? Do you imagine that I shall take pleasure in seeing you go into battle? Suppose you should fall?"