Ethel saw the president turn to her father, saying in a stern voice: “Old man, tell us your name, and who you are.”
The old man raised his venerable head.
“Once,” he replied, looking steadily at the president, “I was Count Griffenfeld and Tönsberg, Prince of Wollin, Prince of the Holy German Empire, Knight of the Royal Orders of the Elephant and the Dannebrog, Knight of the Golden Fleece in Germany and of the Garter in England, Prime Minister, Lord Rector of all our Universities, Lord High Chancellor of Denmark, and—”
The president interrupted him: “Prisoner, the court does not ask who you were, nor what your name once was, but who you are and what it now is.”
“Well,” answered the old man, quickly, “my name is John Schumacker now; I am sixty-nine years old, and I am nothing but your former benefactor, Chancellor d’Ahlefeld.”
The president seemed confused.
“I recognized you, Count,” added the ex-chancellor, “and as I thought you did not know me, I took the liberty to remind your Grace that we are old acquaintances.”
“Schumacker,” said the president, in a voice trembling with concentrated fury, “do not trifle with the court.”
The aged prisoner again interrupted him: “We have changed places, noble Chancellor; I used to call you ‘d’Ahlefeld,’ and you addressed me as ‘Count.’”
“Prisoner,” replied the president, “you only injure your cause by recalling the infamous decree which already brands your name.”