During dinner an Imperial courier arrived from Berlin with a letter from the Emperor, and "Willie" opened it, read it, and then, excusing himself, left the table. I rose and followed him, as was my duty, but when outside the room His Highness sent me back, saying in a thick, husky voice:
"I shall not want you. Von Heltzendorff; I will write the reply myself."
On my return the guests were discussing the effect of the Emperor's message upon their host, Von Pappenheim being particularly anxious. He said something in a low voice to his sister, when the latter became at once thoughtful. Indeed, the remainder of the meal was a very dull affair, and it was with relief that we rose and went out into the big ancient hall, with its vaulted ceiling, where coffee was always served.
The courier had left on his return journey to the capital, yet "Willie" did not again reappear. At eleven o'clock I found him lying in a very advanced state of intoxication upon the sofa in the room set apart for me for my writing. Near him stood an empty brandy bottle and an empty syphon of soda-water.
I called his faithful valet, and together we half carried him to his room, where he was undressed and put to bed. Hardly had I returned to my room when Von Pappenheim entered in search of his host.
"His Highness is not well, and has retired to his room," I said. "He expressed a desire to see nobody to-night."
Von Pappenheim's face changed.
"Oh!" he cried in despair. "Why did he not see me and tell me the truth! Precious hours are flying, and we must act if the situation is to be saved."
"What situation?" I asked, in pretended ignorance.
"You know nothing, Von Heltzendorff, eh?" he asked, looking me straight in the face.