A few seconds later I heard the Count's voice raised in anger and high, bitter words. Next moment I sprang up the stairs and, dashing into the room, found the pretty Countess standing near the window, white and rigid as a statue, while the two men in uniform faced each other. Von Leutenberg's countenance was distorted with rage as he abused the Crown-Prince, and openly charged him with having brought about his exile to London.
His Highness made no reply, but only smiled sarcastically and shrugged his narrow shoulders.
So enraged the other became at this latter gesture that, with a sudden movement, he drew his sword.
The Countess shrieked and swooned as I sprang forward and stayed her husband's hand.
It was a dramatic moment. The Count instantly realized the enormity of his crime, and his hand dropped.
"Enough!" cried the Crown-Prince, waving his adversary aside. Then, turning to me, he said in a calm, hard voice:
"Heltzendorff, you are witness that this man has drawn his sword upon the heir to the Throne."
And with those haughty words he bowed stiffly and strode out of the room.
Two hours later I was commanded to the Kaiser's presence, and found him in counsel with his son.
The Emperor, who wore the uniform of the Guards, looked pale and troubled, yet in his eyes there was a keen, determined look. As I passed the sentries and entered the lofty study, with its upholstery and walls of pale green damask—that room from which the Empire and the whole world have so often been addressed—the Kaiser broke off short in his conversation.