While the Emperor and his host were out shooting, the Crown-Prince and several of the suite being of the party, I remained alone in a big, circular, old-world room in one of the towers of the Castle, where the long, narrow windows overlooked the forest, dealing with a flood of important State papers which a courier had brought from Berlin two hours before. Papers followed us daily wherever we might be, even when yachting at Cowes or in the Norwegian fjords.
About midday Dr. Vollerthun was ushered in to me—a short, stout, guttural-speaking man of about sixty, rather bald, and wearing big, round, gold-rimmed spectacles. I quickly handed him over to the major-domo. He was a stranger, and no doubt one who sought the Emperor's favour, therefore as such I took but little interest in him.
About three o'clock that same afternoon, however, a light tap came at the door, and on looking round, I saw my hostess standing upon the threshold.
She was quietly but elegantly dressed, presenting the true type of the smart Parisienne, but in an instant I realized that she was very pale and agitated. Indeed her voice trembled when she asked permission to enter.
Since her marriage I had many times chatted with her, for she often came to the Palace when her husband visited Berlin, as he did so frequently. I had danced with her; I had taken her in to dinner at various houses where we met, always finding her a bright and very intellectual companion.
She quietly closed the door, and, crossing the room with uneven steps, advanced to the table from which I had risen.
"Count von Heltzendorff!" she exclaimed in a low, strained voice. "I—I have come to seek your aid because—well, because I'm distracted, and I know that you are my husband's friend," she exclaimed in French.
"And yours also, Madame," I said earnestly, bowing and pulling forward a chair for her.
"My husband is out with the Emperor!" she gasped in a curious, unnerved tone. "And I fear; oh, I fear that we are in great peril—deadly peril every hour—every moment!"
"Really, Madame, I hardly follow you," I said, standing before the dark-haired, handsome French girl—for she was little more than a girl—who had inherited the whole fortune of the biggest sugar refinery in Europe, the great factory out at St. Denis which supplied nearly one-sixth of the refined sugar of the world.