Said his Majesty:
“May I ask you, my dear Baron, to show me the cross you found?”
I put it into his hand.
For a moment the king stared upon it speechless. Then he turned it over, and ejaculated, roughly almost under the emotion of his violent surprise:
“Great God—why—it is—!”
And he pointed to the small, delicately engraved initials, surmounted by a crown, in the middle of the cross. Very pale and with heaving breast he went on:
“A nun, a gray nun, you say? What would the object of such a joke be? and how—how should this cross come back among the living? Baron, come with me, I must request your confidence and secrecy!”
We passed through several rooms, and then arrived at a narrow gallery whose walls were hung with portraits of royal personages. The king came abruptly to a halt, and without himself looking up indicated a certain picture:
“Observe that painting! Do you see the same Cross there that you have in your hand?”
Involuntarily I uttered the loud cry: