Now, fearing bombs or attempts by other means upon his son's precious life, the Emperor had commanded me always to open packets addressed to him. This one, however, being marked "Private," and, moreover, the inscription being in a feminine hand, I decided to await His Highness's return.
When at last he came in, wet and very muddy after a long day's sport, I showed him the packet. With a careless air he said:
"Oh, open it, Heltzendorff. Open all packets, whether marked private or not."
I obeyed, and to my surprise found within the paper a small leather-covered jewel-case, in which, reposing upon a bed of dark blue velvet, was the beautiful ornament which I had admired at the throat of the fair-haired British girl—the golden butterfly.
I handed it to His Highness just as he was taking a cigarette from the box on a side table.
The sight of it electrified him! He held his breath, standing for a few seconds staring wildly at it as though he were gazing upon some hideous spectre, sight of which had frozen his senses.
He stood rigid, his thin countenance as white as paper.
"When did that arrive?" he managed to ask, though in a hoarse voice, which showed how completely sight of it had upset him.
"This afternoon. It was in the courier's pouch from Potsdam."
He had grasped the back of a chair as though to steady himself, and for a few seconds stood there, with his left hand clapped over his eyes, endeavouring to collect his thoughts.