"You may be right there!" said the countess, with a thoughtful nod.
"May God guard Your Highness from either.--Has Your Highness any farther orders?"
"Yes, my good Martin. Go early to-morrow morning to the Prince--or rather the Duke of Metten-Barnheim--and ask him to call on me at ten o'clock."
"Alas--the duke went to shoot black cock this morning--I suppose he didn't know that Your Highness was coming?"
"Certainly not How long will he be away?"
"Till the end of the week, his coachman told me."
"This too!" She stood in helpless despair.
"The coachman said that His Highness was going to Castle Sternbach--perhaps Your Highness might telegraph there!"
"Yes, my good old friend--you are right!" And with eager haste she wrote a telegram. "There it is, Martin, it will reach him somewhere!"
And she remembered the message despatched nine years before, after the Passion Play, to the man whom she was now recalling as her last support. At that time she informed him that she should stay in Ammergau and let the roses awaiting her at home wither--now she remained at home and let the roses that bloomed for her in Ammergau languish.