“My courier? He is my servant; how can a prince—mercy on us!—how can a prince be in the wrong against his own servant?” And again there was a flash of lightning, and his Highness disappeared behind his handkerchief. “Mercy on us! Let him go! Let the fellow go!”
“Ay, your Highness, that’s all very good; but you must take the disgrace off from his shoulders as well.”
“Mercy on us!” cried his Highness, stopping his ears because of the thunder. “I’m to ask his pardon, am I? No, no! The fellow——”
Rand appeared. “This will be a good one.”
“Run and let Halsband out of prison,” said his Highness.
“And,” said the Konrektor, “give me pen and ink, and some paper.”
“Here is paper and pen; but our ink is dried up. We’re not much given to writing, except when the cashier is here.”
“That’s a fact,” said his Highness. “Mercy on us! Go and buy some ink immediately.” The ink came, and the Konrektor wrote.
“Good gracious,” said his Highness to himself, “how can the fellow write in this storm!”
The Konrektor got him to sign it.