"I thank you," she sighed in relief, and she put out her hand, over which I bent as I took it in friendship.
"Ah!" she exclaimed in a low voice. "I fear I shall require the assistance of a friend very soon. Do you recollect my broken pearls?"
And a few moments later she left my room.
Through all that day and the next I wondered what sly, underhand work could be in progress. I pitied the good-looking, unconventional Imperial Princess who, because of her somewhat hoydenish high spirits, had aroused the storm of anger and jealousy in the Saxon Court. But the Hapsburgs had ever been unfortunate in their loves.
On the day before the Crown-Princess's visit to the Berlin Court was due to end, at about six o'clock in the evening, I passed the sentries and ascended to the Emperor's study with some papers I had been going through regarding the reorganization of the Stettin garrison. I was one of the very few persons ever admitted to that wing of the Palace.
As I approached the door, treading noiselessly upon the soft carpet, I heard voices raised excitedly, the door being slightly ajar.
Naturally I halted. In my position I was able to hear a great deal of Palace intrigue, but never had I listened to a conversation that held me more breathless than at that moment.
"Woman," cried the Emperor, "do you, then, openly defy my authority?"
"What that crafty sycophant, Von Metzsch, has told you is, I repeat, a foul and abominable lie," was the reply.
And I knew that the unfortunate Princess was defending her reputation, which her enemies at the Court of Saxony had torn to shreds.