My chief feeling as I rose to receive the Prince's daughter was a sort of shamefaced regret that I had allowed myself to be hurried into a position which made it necessary for me to mislead her. I meant her nothing but good. I had been brought to the castle all against my will. I had stayed there largely in order that I might be the means of saving her from danger; and everything I heard only served to increase that danger in my view. Yet the fact of the deception I was practising hampered and embarrassed me in her presence.
She was garbed now in the deepest black, was pale and hollow-eyed, and trembling under the stress of her new sudden sorrow; and she seemed so frail and fragile that my heart ached for her, while my senses were thrilled by her exquisite beauty and by a strange subtle influence which her presence exercised upon me. My pulses beat fast with a tumultuous desire to help her in her helplessness. Never, indeed, had woman moved me like this.
She paused a moment on the threshold, her hand on the arm of an elderly lady who accompanied her; and her large blue eyes rested on my face, searching, reading, and appealing, as I hastened across the room toward her. Her scrutiny appeared to give her confidence, for she withdrew her hand from her companion's arm and held it out to greet me.
"I felt I must come to bid you welcome, cousin," she said in a low, sweet voice that trembled. "You are welcome—very welcome."
I took the hand and raised it to my lips.
"You should not have distressed yourself to come; I should have understood," I answered.
"I felt that I must see you," she said, very graciously; and I, remembering what I had seen in the garden and all that von Krugen had told me, knew well enough the doubts and fears, anxieties and hopes, that might lie behind the words.
I racked my brain for some sentence that would convey some assurance of my wish to serve her; but I could find no words that pleased me; and after a pause, that to me was awkward enough, she added:
"You are now my only relative in the world except my dear aunt here, the Baroness Gratz."
The old lady made me a very stately and ceremonious bow, which I returned with such courtesy as I could command.
"A great heritage has come to you, sir, and a trust that must test to the utmost one so young in years," she said.
"My one life-purpose shall be to prove worthy of it," I answered earnestly; and I thought the girl's eyes lightened a little at the words.
"We were alarmed, sir, when we heard that you were unwilling to come," said the baroness.
"I am here, madam, to remove that alarm."
"The future fortunes of this noble house rest largely in your hands, as well as those of this sweet child. You know that?" she asked in reply.
"I know little as yet; but in all I shall strive earnestly to win the confidence of you both."
"You will have mine, cousin," said the girl, impulsively and almost eagerly, as it seemed to me. "And at the earliest moment I wish to tell you all that is in my thoughts and to ask your help."
"You will never ask that in vain, believe me," I returned, raising my eyes to hers, which had all the time been fixed on my face.
"I do believe you—I am sure of you," she cried, again impulsively; and I could have blessed her for the words. "And, oh, I am so glad you have come. There is so much to change and set right."
"Minna!" said the aunt in a gently warning tone.
"I am with friends, and I can speak freely. I feel it. I am sure we shall be friends, cousin. Shall we not? And you will be on my side?"
At this Captain von Krugen, who had remained at the other end of the room, took two or three steps forward as if to speak; but the baroness interposed, and after a warning glance at him whispered to the girl:
"We have not come for this now, child."
"The captain will be my friend, too, whatever happens, I am confident," said the girl, looking toward him; "even if I will not go forward with a scheme that must die——"
The word distressed her, and she caught her breath, and her lips faltered so that she could not finish the sentence. She sighed deeply and turned to lean on her companion's arm again.
"You must not distress yourself, Minna," said the baroness gently.
A rather long, trying pause followed, during which the Countess Minna appeared to be struggling to regain her self-composure. And at the close she said, sadly and listlessly, and yet with a great effort to speak firmly:
"I did not come to speak of these things now, but to ask you, cousin, to do all that has to be done at this time of—of sorrow. You are the head of the house now, and I trust you will use the authority."
"Until you desire otherwise," I answered. "You may depend upon me absolutely."
"That is my wish, cousin; and when I can trust myself, we will have a long conference."
She gave me her hand, and I was in the act of putting it once more to my lips when hurried steps approached, and the Count von Nauheim entered the room hastily. I felt the girl's fingers start, and involuntarily they closed on mine in a little trembling gesture of half agitation and fear. The touch thrilled me.
"I am surprised to find you here, Minna," he said bruskly. "I think, baroness, it would have been more seemly if Minna had kept in her apartments."
The old lady was more afraid of him than Minna herself, I could see, and she murmured some half-incoherent excuses.
"I see no wrong in coming here to welcome the head of the house," said the girl, trying to appear firm.
"Head of the house," he cried, with a sneer. "You are the head of the house, and, as your affianced husband, it is for me to say what is necessary in these matters of courtesy. I have already seen Herr von Fromberg to welcome him, as you say. Nothing more was necessary. Let me give you my arm to take you to my apartments. Come."
She hesitated an instant, and seemed as if about to refuse; but then changed and placed the tips of her fingers on his arm, and as she did so turned and bowed to me with a smile on her sweet, sad, pale face.
"I shall see you, cousin Hans, soon, as I said just now. In the mean time I rely upon you to order all such arrangements as you think best—as your position here now requires."
"This gentleman need not trouble himself," said the man, frowning heavily and angrily. "I have given all necessary instructions."
"I will do what you wish," I said to her, ignoring him entirely.
I kept out of sight my rage at his conduct until the three had left the room, and then, forgetting that I was not alone, I vented it in a heavy, bitter oath, and turned to find von Krugen's keen dark eyes fixed upon me.
I was annoyed to have thus bared my feelings to his quick gaze. I did not wish him to know that I suspected, or even disliked, the count; but he had seen it already.
"He would try to overrule even the Prince himself in the latter time; and he takes interference very ill. He will ride roughshod over all of us if he can."
"Ah, you do not like him," I answered. "But there is no room for dissensions among ourselves. Let it go no farther."
"Have you any commands to give, your Highness? If I am to take them from him, I am to leave the castle."
This was intended to see if I should exercise my authority.
"You will not leave, Captain von Krugen," I replied promptly. "Heaven knows there is too much need of a faithful friend at such a juncture." He bowed, and his eyes lighted with pleasure at my words. "And now," I added, "we will discuss together what has to be done, and try to settle the arrangements."
There were, of course, many arrangements to be made, and the consultation occupied a long time. As a result I issued a number of directions such as seemed best, including those for the funeral, which I fixed for three days later.
Then I had to consider my own matters, and to mature a plan which I had formed after my interview with the Countess Minna. I felt that I could not continue the deception in regard to myself; and I resolved that I would use the interval before the funeral to try and find the real von Fromberg, and bring him to the castle to take his own position. I would come with him, and, by using the knowledge I possessed, help him in a task which, if he had a spark of honor in his nature, he could not but undertake.
The next day I took the captain so far into my confidence as to tell him there was an urgent private matter to which I was compelled to attend, and that I must return to Hamnel for that purpose. I told him to keep the fact of my absence as secret as possible, saying merely that I was out riding or walking, and that I would return soon. If the countess asked for me, he was in confidence to tell her the truth, and to assure her that, in any event, I should be back before the day of the funeral. Moreover, he was to keep a most vigilant watch over everything and everybody, and if my presence was urgently needed to telegraph to me to Hamnel. But to no one was he to give that address.
I started early, and the same evening arrived at Hamnel, but failed to find von Fromberg either in his own name or in mine; and theft I hurried on to Charmes. There I caught him at the house of the Compte de Charmes, whose daughter, Angele, he was to marry.
At first he was like an emotional girl. He rushed into the room, and would have embraced me had I not prevented him, while he loaded me with thanks and praise for having helped him to get free from his uncle by not declaring myself; while, with all this, he was profuse and gushingly voluble with his apologies.
He acted like an hysterical fool, bubbling over with silly laughter one moment and shedding equally silly tears the next. He was ridiculously light-spirited and happy, until his fantastic hilarity angered me. He appeared to think that, as he had become a Frenchman, he ought to behave as a sort of feather-headed clown.
His one consuming wish was that I should see Angele—the girl was the one object in his mental outlook at that moment, and everything else was all out of perspective.
It was a long time before I could make him understand that a much more serious matter than his love-farce had brought me to Charmes; and even while I compelled him to listen to the position of affairs at the castle, and the plight of his cousin there, I could see that his thoughts were away out of the room with his Angele.
"I am sorry for her, poor soul. I am sure I would have every one happy at a time like this. But I suppose it will be all settled somehow and some day," he said at the close, in a tone which made me fully realize that he considered it no business of his.
"There is a train that starts from Charmes in an hour and a half," said I, thinking it best to assume that he would go back with me. "We can catch by that a fairly good connection at Strasburg, and can reach the castle to-morrow."
"You are going back, then?" he queried.
"I think I can be of help to you."
"How can you help me if you are going there?"
"You will wish, of course, to hasten to the castle to save the honor of your family and of your cousin?"
"My family is here. My home is France. I am no longer a German. I have made the declaration to become naturalized. Do you think I would leave Angele on almost the eve of my wedding-day? To-morrow we shall be man and wife. Shall I instead, then, go to look after the affairs of a dead old man who never worried himself the paring of a nail about me until he thought I could be of use to him? What do you suppose Angele's father would say? Pouf! I can hear him. 'Very well, monsieur, go away. Attend to these people—these Germans—leave my daughter. Show yourself more German than French, and give the lie to your protestations. Pretend to become a Frenchman one moment and the next recognize the claim of your Fatherland and your German blood and kinship. Go, by all means, but do not return. Never set eyes on Angele again!' Eh, do you think I could do that?" and he threw up his hands, shoulders, and eyebrows in a perfect ecstasy of repudiation of the mere idea.
"A helpless young girl, your only kin in the world, is waiting there dependent upon your assistance. You are now the head of that great family whose honor and future are now threatened; and the entire fortunes of your noble house are at a crisis which make it imperative in all honor that you should assume the responsibilities of the position."
"And is there not a helpless girl here who will be dependent upon me? Am I not here taking the headship of a noble family? With this difference—that here I was not forgotten and ignored until I became necessary as a prop for a tottering wall. Would honor, think you, have nothing to say against my desertion of this family in the way you suggest? No, no, my friend; these people have appealed to your sentimental side. My place is here, and here I stop."
From that resolve no pleas, reproaches, arguments, or goads could move him. Nothing should make him budge from Angele; and he viewed everything from that one new standpoint.
"If you are eager to free my family from the mess their affairs have got into, take my place, go back and do it. You may claim by right all there is to be got; for certainly I could not help if I would. If he who was all his life at this work could not keep his house from falling, his son from being killed, and his daughter from danger, what can I hope to do?—I, a student, who have lived three-quarters of my life in France, who loathe a military life, and know absolutely nothing of the intricacies of diplomatic intrigue? You say you could help me? I don't know how; but if you could, what is the gain for me? My uncle is dead and leaves me nothing but a mess of intrigue and danger. My cousin is engaged and therefore will marry—and what is her husband to me?"
"Surely you are not dead to the demands of honor?" I cried; but against the wall of his selfishness the sea would have broken itself in vain.
"How do I serve my honor by forsaking Angele? No, no. I tell you I have ceased to be a German; I have renounced my family, and shall live under a new name. I am a student. This is work for men like you. Go and do it. I am rendering that girl a far greater service by sending you than by going myself."
It was useless to argue with him. He was hopelessly callous; and I sat biting my lips in anxious thought.
"When they know I have become a Frenchman, do you think they will accept help at my hands? Will they welcome my French wife, or my new family? Should I wreck my own happiness to enable them to insult me, and all that are now dear to me? Am I a fool? I will do what I can, but not that. If my cousin should need a home, she shall have as comfortable a one as my means will provide. But they must not claim me as one of their own kin. That is all."
"They are not likely to make any claim of the kind on you," I said. And the bitter contempt I felt for him came out in my tone.
He winced and flushed, and for a moment was stung to anger; but it passed.
"You think poorly of me because I have decided matters thus. As you will. We shall not meet again. Probably I shall never again cross the frontier. To show you my decision is no mere whim, but a deliberately chosen course, here I have a duly drawn up declaration renouncing my heirship. I drew it, of course, before I knew of the Prince's death, and I declined absolutely his proposals, and announced my intention to change my name and become a Frenchman. I was going to have this attested before a notary, and then send it to my uncle; but you can take it as it is, if you like. I will make a sworn declaration at any time it is desired. Do just what you will. And this I swear to you: I will never breathe a word of what has passed unless you wish me to speak. I owe you that for having brought you into the mess."
I took the paper and rose to leave.
"I will take means to let you know what is done. Here, I suppose?"
I spoke curtly, for I felt strongly.
"I do not wish to hear anything. A letter here will find me, of course, but my name for the future will be Henri Frombe—Hans von Fromberg will have ceased to exist, unless you are he." So indifferent was he to the critical seriousness of the affair that he laughed as he said this, and added: "After all, then, you will not see Angele. I am grieved at that," and he held out his hand.
"I cannot take your hand, M. Frombe," I said sternly. "I remain a German. Your desertion of your family at such a juncture of need makes any friendly feeling toward you impossible on my part. You hold that any man can lightly renounce his family and country. I do not. I take the strongest view of your conduct. France profits little by her newest citizen, and the Fatherland gains by the loss of so self-satisfied a renegade. I trust that we shall not meet again."
He was a coward, and shrank and paled under the lash of my words; but he made no attempt to resent them, and I left him with a feeling of bitter contempt and disgust at his conduct.
During the whole of my long journey back to the castle I sat absorbed in close thought, mapping out my plans, recalling old memories, and rousing my wits and energies for the task which Fate had set me, and from which apparently I could not break away.
When I reached the castle, Captain von Krugen met me with several stories about steps which von Nauheim had taken to contest my authority. Orders I had given had been countermanded, and several arrangements changed. These things were small in themselves, but as his object was evidently to fight my influence and dispute my authority, I deemed it best to put my foot down at once.
I sent for all to whom the contradictory instructions had been given, and then requested von Nauheim's presence. At first he would not come, and then I sent the captain to tell him exactly what I meant to do, and that if he did not come every man and woman in the place would be warned to take no orders from him under pain of instant dismissal. Von Krugen carried the message with glee, and it roused the count to such anger that he came at once in a fury. Without giving him time to speak, I said:
"I sent for you, Count von Nauheim, because these good people here are in some difficulty as to where they are to look for orders. Will you explain to them that, although the Prince has left his fortune to his daughter, the castle passes to me with the headship of the house, and that, as at times like these there can be only one master, they must take their orders from me, and that where any instructions clash with mine they must be referred to me?"
He eyed me angrily, but could not dispute what I implied.
"I am no mouthpiece for you," he answered sullenly. "I have been accustomed to control matters here, for an obvious reason known to every one, that I have the honor to be the Countess Minna's affianced husband. What object, then, have you for any change?"
"Will you tell them what I have said, or will you compel me to issue peremptory orders, and cancel openly what you have done?" I asked in a quick, resolute tone, but low enough to be heard only by him.
"If you dare to humiliate me in that way——" he began.
"Quick, decide," I interposed sharply. "There can't be two masters here."
He hesitated, glancing first at and then away from me, while I kept my eyes fixed steadily on his face.
"Quick," I repeated sternly.
"Curse you, I'll make you pay for this!" he swore under his breath, with a vicious scowl. Then aloud, "Of course you people will understand that for the moment the present Prince here is your master," and with a wave of the hand he indicated me. He did it as ungraciously as he dared, and as soon as he had finished he left the room.
The effect of the incident was twofold—it strengthened my authority in the castle, and it made it more difficult than ever for me to draw back. But I had no thought now of doing that. I felt that I had cut off my retreat; and that, although I would much rather have told the Countess Minna exactly what my position was, any such candor was for the moment at least quite out of the question.
Of the girl herself I saw nothing during the next few days, and I passed the time absorbing all the information I could get, and trying to form a plan of campaign.
I guessed that nothing would be done by the agents of the Ostenburg family until a sufficient time had elapsed after the Prince's funeral to make it plain what we intended to do; and I judged that their next move would be determined by our own acts.
The funeral took place and directly afterward von Nauheim left the castle without acquainting me with his plans; and for four or five days following the Countess Minna gave no sign of a desire to see me. I began to grow impatient. I had no wish to force myself on her or into her confidence, but it was imperative that I should at least learn her wishes both in regard to von Nauheim and the big scheme of which her marriage was a part. In the mean time von Krugen was urging me to come to a decision to strike a blow to show our friends in Munich that we were going on with the matter.
I had come to the conclusion, however, that there was no chance whatever of carrying through any such plot as the old Prince had attempted. If it had ever been practicable to carry it out successfully, the chance had passed when the son, Gustav, had been killed. Up to that time there had, indeed, been a pretty widespread sympathy with the movement; and if a bold coup had been made, the lunatic King kidnapped, the young fellow proclaimed, and the Prince's power, shrewdness, and enormous influence thrown into the scales, it was possible that enough strength might have been paraded in the country to force the hands of the Imperial Government. But with the death of the son went half the support; and now with the death of the Prince I judged that more than half the remainder would go. It seemed to me, therefore, a sheer impossibility to carry such a scheme through successfully. The utmost I could hope to achieve would be to make such terms as should secure the safety of the Countess Minna, as well as of those who had been concerned in the plot thus far.
Obviously they were compromised up to the hilt; and the manner in which Gustav's death had been compassed showed that among the Ostenburg interest there were men of great daring and recklessness ready to go to any length in defence of their own. They were on the winning side now, moreover, and I deemed it certain that to whatever lengths they might go they were pretty certain to secure the covert sanction of the authorities at Berlin. Berlin would side with the successful, I reckoned. Thus the more closely I probed the situation the less I liked it.
But in these desperate circumstances, where each man who took a part was playing with his life, what was a coward like von Nauheim doing? Even if he was angling to get possession of the wealth which would be the portion of the countess, he was not the man to run his neck into a noose: and whoever married the Countess Minna would inevitably have as part of that dowry the implacable enmity of her enemies.
What, then, ought I to do? My instincts were all in favor of striking some kind of blow, and of being the attacker instead of waiting to be attacked. We appeared to be in danger of being squeezed out of existence. Our supporters were falling away, our position growing weaker, and our resources becoming feebler the longer we waited. If we could only effect some little thing, it seemed that we should be in a better position to negotiate than if we merely did nothing. But what could we do?
There was another serious danger in delay, moreover, arising out of the consummate uncertainty of my own position. It was one thing to be mistaken for the rightful heir to the Prince, but quite another to attempt to make good that claim legally; and I soon had a sharp reminder of this.
The old lawyer who had acted for the Prince came to me a few days after the funeral for his instructions. I expressed in a general way what I wished, and then he said:
"There are certain of the estates which have always gone with the title, and should go now. It would be possible to make a claim to them against the actual provisions of the will."
He put it suggestively.
"I shall make no claim," I answered. "I do not for a moment intend to interfere with the Prince's disposition of matters."
"But he would have wished you to have them, I know. Indeed, I have letters from him to that effect."
"I shall not interfere with the will," I returned, rather abruptly.
"They are very rich estates."
"That makes no difference to me."
"The cost of maintaining the dignity of your Highness's title and position will be very heavy, and without them scarcely practicable."
"I have my private fortune, and that will and must suffice."
"Indeed!" he exclaimed in surprise. "I thought I knew to a mark the extent of your mother's small income. It is derived almost entirely from the Graffenheim property; and I understand that within the last few days you have ordered it to be sold. Do you not intend your affairs to remain in my hands?"
Here was clearly a mess I had not foreseen. The real man was getting rid of his German property when he turned Frenchman.
"You will certainly have my confidence, my dear sir," I said, in a carefully courteous manner. "And of course my affairs will remain in your hands. This, however, is only a very small thing, and I did not know of my uncle's death when I put it in hand."
"The Prince was always desirous of purchasing that property, because, as you know, it lies in the midst of the Gramberg estates. If you wish to sell it I should advise the Countess Minna to purchase it."
"I shall not sell it to the Countess Minna," I said, at a loss how to parry him. "I mean that probably I shall withdraw it from sale altogether now."
He looked at me in such surprise that I saw he knew something which made my reply ridiculous; but, being afraid to offend me, he said no more about it, and answered:
"That is, of course, just as you will. Then should I get on with the preparation of the papers of formal proof of your succession?"
"I don't know what is wanted," said I indifferently, though the man's words had sprung a mine under my very feet.
"Mere formalities, of course; just tracing your descent. The certificates of birth and such matters."
"Oh, yes; whatever is necessary you may prepare. Will it take long?"
His answer would tell me what time I should have for the whole business.
"No. A day or two—not more."
The reply filled me with consternation. I could not possibly make a legal claim to what did not belong to me; and yet I must have time—weeks, at least, and probably months. I let no sign of my feeling show in my face, but sat impassively thoughtful. Then, as if debating a point, I answered:
"You will have to create some delay in the matter. It is useless keeping my confidence from you. This will of the Prince's leaves me nothing but the castle, and that seems to have been about the only part of his property that he had mortgaged; so that practically there is nothing. Whether I shall accept the inheritance, therefore—and, of course, the title with it—is a question I have yet to decide; and I must have as long a time for that decision as possible; but, mark you, no one must know of this but yourself. This is my first confidential commission to you. Certain things might determine me at once; but marriages cannot be arranged in a week. You understand? And I have no fancy for the life of a man weighted with a big title and no means to support it properly."
He bowed as if in acquiescence, although this glaring contradiction of what I had said only a minute before obviously perplexed and disconcerted him.
"And now that you have my confidence," I said, laying great stress on the word, "tell me how long can we postpone these formalities—or, in other words, how long can I have to carry out my—my plan?" And I smiled slightly, as though the plan were some such matrimonial one as I had hinted at.
"A month, perhaps two months, without provoking much comment—of course, provided there is no opposition," he replied cautiously.
"I will find a way to deal with any opposition," said I promptly. "And now we understand one another."
With that I dismissed him. I saw the danger of this new development. The least suspicion would inevitably cause inquiry; and the most superficial inquiry would as inevitably bring the whole house of cards tumbling about my ears. But I had certainly one month, and perhaps two; and I must put the time to the best use I could.
The question of what that use should be was considerably influenced by von Nauheim, who returned that night, and immediately sought an interview with me. I noticed at once a marked change in his attitude.
"I want a confidential talk with you, Prince," he said; "and before we begin I wish to say I am very sorry I made a bear of myself to you before the funeral. But I was frightfully upset at the Prince's sudden death. It seemed to me that all our plans were going to the devil, and it was impossible for a man who had had only a student's career like yours to be of any use in such a case as ours. I own that I tried to frighten you into leaving here without going into matters; and then it was I saw what a different kind of man you were. But I was too wild to own it."
"And what has changed you since?"
"I've been in Munich in conference with our friends there to ascertain what effect the Prince's death will have."
"Well?"
"Von Krugen tells me you know everything, and the long and short of it is that if you'll join us we shall all be only too glad to have your help. I need scarcely tell you that those who stand by us now will reap the harvest when we've succeeded. It's deuced hard on you to have the whole of the Prince's fortune left away to Minna. Once this thing gets through she won't want it, of course; and it'll be my business to see that the Gramberg estates go with the title. I give you my word on that."
The man was lying, of course; but it wouldn't do to show that I knew it.
"I don't think the terms are high enough," said I quietly, as if weighing them. "The risk is enormous."
"It might be if we were not certain of success."
"And we certainly are not."
"Why, what can stand in the way? The feeling against the King grows every day. What do you think is his last freak? Another confounded palace, and this time underground. It will cost millions of marks—millions. Do you suppose the people are going to put up forever with this sort of thing? It has only just leaked out in Munich; and I tell you, man, the whole country will take fire and clamor for his deposition. There never was such a chance, and never will be such another."
There was a ring of sincerity in this indignation quite foreign to his usual manner, and I could not understand it.
"And what is your plan?" I asked.
"To strike—and strike at once," he cried loudly, dashing his fist down on the table, "while Munich is mad with anger."
It was plausible enough, but I knew the man for a scoundrel.
"And my cousin—what does she say?" I asked.
"She can have no choice," he returned readily. "She must leave these things to us. She has a kind of reluctance, I know, and her heart has never been really in the work. But she is pledged to the finger-tips and can't draw back—at least without betraying the lot of us, as well as ruining herself. Sometimes I wish, indeed, that she had more spirit. Had I known she felt so strongly I should never have gone in so deep myself."
"Before I decide anything I must know her wishes," I said.
"Her wishes will be ours—if we make her understand that the alternative will be the ruin of all who have taken up her cause, and probably the death of every man here. Of course you'll force this home upon her?"
"It must first be forced home on me," said I.
"You know von Krugen's views," he urged.
He was showing too much earnestness now, and his whole manner was suggestive of a secret purpose. What it was I could not guess, of course; but no one could fail to read it in his manner.
"Yes, I know von Krugen's views; but I am accustomed to form my own opinions and to act on my own judgment."
"If you will come with me to Munich, I will give you plenty of facts to convince you."
He spoke with an assumption of lightness in his tone, and accompanied the words with a shrug of the shoulders, as of indifference. But the man was as easy to read as a book in some respects. I saw instantly that he had approached one of the chief points at which he had been aiming.
"Of course I will go with you to Munich," I answered readily; and a momentary flash of pleasure in his eyes gave me the clew I needed. It was at Munich that Minna's brother had been inveigled into the duel and killed, and this man had come back from there with some such plan against myself. My death would leave the girl absolutely without a friend in the world.
The game was indeed becoming engrossing in its interests; and at that moment I began to see the course I would take to cut the coils which threatened her.
"Before I go," I added, after a pause that was scarcely perceptible for all the revelation that had come to me in it, "I will see my cousin, and hear from her lips what she wishes."
"We will see her at once," he answered instantly.
"With your permission, I will see her alone."
"That is rather a strange request, Prince," he returned in a tone of surprise, "considering she is my promised wife. What reason have you for making it?"
"I wish her to speak freely to me, unfettered by either you or von Krugen's insistent persuasions. She will speak more freely alone, and, as head of the house, I choose my own steps."
"I see no reason for it," he replied sharply. "Do you suggest I intimidate her?"
"I suggest nothing," I returned quietly. "I get my information in my own way, that is all. If you object to my doing that, I decline to get it in yours. My visit to Munich can stand over meanwhile."
"But things can't wait; this business must be done at once."
"Then the short cut to it must be as I prefer to direct."
The mask nearly fell from him. He bit his lips, and I saw the anger rush to his eyes and face; but he checked it, and, though he had to fight hard to keep from breaking out, he answered sufficiently calmly:
"Oh, if you set so much store by it as all that, certainly see her alone. You will find out no more than I have said."
But I had a different opinion; and I sent up a message at once to the Countess Minna to ask for an interview immediately.
"And when shall we start for Munich?" I asked when the messenger had gone. "To-morrow?"
"The sooner the better," he replied; and again I caught a fleeting, stealthy glint of pleasure in his eyes.
My short conversation with von Nauheim, the sudden change in his attitude toward me, and the slight indications of his real feelings which I had observed did more than anything which had yet occurred to impress me with the deadly seriousness of the task I had undertaken. I was convinced that as the result of this visit to Munich some fresh development of treachery had been planned, and that he was closely concerned as either principal or tool. Fortunately for me he was a poor diplomatist, and as my former knowledge of him gave me a sufficient clew to his real character, he could not so dissemble his manner as to mislead me. Without that clew he might have tricked me, of course, as he had tricked, others. Apparently his interests lay entirely in carrying forward the plot to place the girl he was to marry on the throne. He would certainly secure her fortune, while as her consort he would enjoy a position of magnificent power, infinitely alluring to a man of his nature. Moreover, he was the chosen representative of one of the most influential sections of Bavarian society, whose power must be an enormous factor in any struggle.
Then I had been a good deal impressed by his momentary flash of sincerity when he had been speaking of the King's mad excesses. He was then expressing a sincere opinion, I was sure, though whether his own or inspired by others for whom he was acting I could not say. But the thought kept recurring to me with ever-increasing suggestiveness.
The key to his conduct lay, I was convinced, in Munich—and to Munich I would go at any risk. That there would be risk a child could see; and the nature of it would depend on the character of this man's treachery, the people with whom he was co-operating, and the length they were prepared to go in silencing me.
I regarded it as quite possible that I should not return. If, as was supposed, the death of the Count Gustav had been deliberately planned, I might take it for granted that I should be pursued with almost equal hostility. This I had read plainly in the man's manner, and it prepared me to believe that he himself in some way had been connected with Gustav's murder.
But there was another very serious consideration. If I was put out of the way and no one at the castle had proof of von Nauheim's treachery, what would be Minna's position? Obviously it must at once become one of consummate peril. Ought I to go away, therefore, without warning her of the man's true character, and without arranging some definite plan of action? Yet how was I to warn her without telling her what I knew and how I knew it—in other words, unless I took her into my confidence as to who I was?
It will be easily understood how these thoughts perplexed me as I made my way up the broad stairway of the castle to the room where she was to receive me, and how infinitely the embarrassment was magnified by the unwonted emotions which her presence now, as formerly, roused in my breast.
She greeted me with sweet cordiality, and the eyes, which had an indescribable fascination for me, wore now an expression of almost anxious alarm as their gaze rested on my very grave face. The Baroness Gratz was with her, a circumstance which made me unwilling to speak plainly and added to my embarrassment.
I inquired after the health of the two and uttered one or two commonplaces, when Minna, after a pause, during which she had most attentively studied my looks, exclaimed:
"You have not come only to say these things, cousin. Your face tells me plainly enough there is something urgent."
"That is true. I have much to say that concerns you very closely."
She was very quick and understood me.
"You wish to speak to me alone. I am sure you will not object, aunt, if my cousin and I speak together in the window there"—and she rose and walked toward a large bay window at the far end of the room, and motioned to me to sit beside her.
The old baroness looked surprised and a little indignant. It was no occasion to stand on trifles, but I did not wish to offend her at a time when her help might be urgently needed—perhaps within a few hours; so I made a low deferential bow and said:
"You will understand this rather unusual step, baroness, when I tell you that I have already declined to hold this interview with my cousin even in the presence of the Count von Nauheim, and that my object is merely to have direct from my cousin's lips alone her wishes and intentions as to the future."
"I understand, Prince," she replied, with her stately bow; but I thought I could detect some symptoms of alarm. Whether this was merely awe of me, or the evidence of some other hidden fear, I could not decide. But the whole atmosphere of the palace reeked so foully with intrigue that I did not know whether she was true or in von Nauheim's plot.
As I took my seat by Minna's side she welcomed me with a little smile, which, sad and wan though it was, seemed like a little messenger of confidence. Then she put a hand on my arm and said wistfully:
"You will treat me quite frankly, cousin? I have been relying on that so strongly."
"As frankly as I can, but remember very little yet. Moreover, it is your frankness that is to be tested. Do you think you can trust me sufficiently to do as you said when I saw you last—tell me the whole of your wishes unreservedly?"
"Certainly I will," she replied instantly. "I have been waiting to do so ever since the day of my dear father's funeral."
"I understood that I was to await some sign from you. You said as much," I reminded her.
"True; but your message to me, that you would seek an interview as soon as practicable, has kept me waiting till now. I have been impatient; but it does not matter now," she ended, with a smile.
"Who gave you my message?" I asked. I had sent none, of course, but guessed that it was a ruse of von Nauheim's to keep us apart while he was away in Munich.
"The count himself," answered the girl in some astonishment, and with a look of quick suspicion. "Did you not send any?"
"There has been some misunderstanding," I said quietly. "But I was waiting to hear from you, and I was to the full as impatient as you could have been."
She cast her eyes down and frowned, and her little foot tapped quickly on the floor.
"It must be as you say—he misunderstood you—or else he was afraid of my speaking plainly to you while he was away." The first sentence was spoken with hesitation, the second quickly and with a touch of indignation, and directly afterward her pulse quickened and she said volubly: "Cousin Hans, I can tell you what I dared not tell my father. I am afraid of the count. You have asked me what I wish. I have two wishes—to be released from this marriage, and to stop all this hateful intrigue for the throne. I am not fit for it. I do not wish it. I am only afraid and harassed and distracted. Oh, I long with a regret I cannot put in words for the days of quiet and peace when none of this was ever thought of! Then I had not a care or grief, and now life is all fear and sorrow. I am the most miserable girl on earth."
She lifted her hands and let them fall again on her lap with a gesture eloquent of despair, and now that the momentary excitement had passed her voice grew heavy with the accents of sorrow.
I was silent, not quite knowing how to meet such an outburst of grief and confidence.
More than that, however: I had heard with a rush of joy, which I dared not let her see, the outcry against the marriage. At that moment the feeling seemed to me like a guilty one, but I vowed to myself that if it cost me every drop of blood in my body I would save her from it. But I sat now grave, silent, and thoughtful, while the little pathetic glances of appeal for help which she cast at me shot right into my heart and thrilled me till I could scarcely hold myself under restraint.
When I did not reply—and I did not because I dared not trust myself—she sighed deeply, and said in a tone even more despairing than before:
"I suppose your silence means that you also are against me. Oh, this ambition! What a curse it is! What has it not cost us? But for it my brother would be alive to-day. My dear father was just as surely another of its victims. I am forced to sacrifice all I care for on earth and to wed a man whom I fear. And now you, fresh from a life of books, on whom I built so much, are caught by the same madness, the fever burns in your blood, and you join this mad hue-and-cry after ruin. Ambition—ah, my father often rated me for my lack of it; but what has it brought to us but death, and what does it promise but misery? Cousin Hans, I beseech you with all my heart and soul do not join with those against me. Try to see this with my eyes, and do not urge me. I know you will think me weak and a child, a feeble, helpless coward; but I cannot go on. You are now my only hope. Cousin, do say you will not side against me!"
As she spoke her hands clasped my arm as if clinging to me for help, and she gazed into my face with such yearning appeal that had I been a stone, or the stern, self-contained man I had tried to appear, I must have been moved. And I was no stone where she was concerned.
"God forbid that I should force you," I said, my voice scarcely steady, despite my efforts to control it. "Do not doubt that I am with you in whatever you decide."
"Oh, thank God, thank God! How I have hoped it! Now I have a friend indeed."
No words of mine can describe the radiant look that came on her face as she cried this; and the smile she gave me lives in my memory as one of the loveliest sights my eyes have ever beheld.
After this outburst of emotion we sat silent some minutes—she, in all innocence of relief, keeping my hand between her own two; and I, on my side, drinking in, until I was intoxicated, the sweetness of emotions such as had never stirred my heart before.
I made the first movement—a slight attempt to withdraw my hand. She let go, and then, with another smile of frank pleasure and trust, she said:
"Not only my cousin, but my friend."
"There is yet much to do," I said gently.
"But we shall do it together. I am no longer alone with all against me, even my dear father. Tell me what is first to be done. I know that you will be successful, for you have given me hope. Will you tell the Count von Nauheim that the marriage project is at an end, or shall I? I will, if you wish, though I have been afraid of him; but no longer, for you are on my side."
Sweet as these renewed protestations of trust were to my ears and senses, they were not without embarrassment.
"If you trust me, you will have to do so wholly," I said; "and you must do as I wish, even if it is altogether distasteful to you."
"I will do whatever you tell me," she assented readily.
"Then in the first place we must act as if this conversation had altered nothing."
"Do you mean...?" she began, with a frown of repugnance, and then stopped.
"I mean that for the present your relations with the count must remain as they have been. Do not ask all my reasons. But for the present it is necessary that no one, you understand, no one shall have any thought that we are not going on with your father's scheme." I told her then of von Nauheim's visit to Munich and its result, and that before we settled anything we must know more. "I should be deceiving you," I added, "if I did not tell you that grave risks have yet to be run in this matter, and the danger to some of us may prove greater than we can avert. I cannot tell you all my thoughts, but I am going to Munich——"
"Ah, no, not there, cousin. That is where Gustav was killed."
"They will not kill me," I answered, smiling to reassure her. "It is essential for me to go that I may probe certain matters to the bottom. Then I shall know better what to do for the best."
"You will never come back. They will not let you," she wailed, wringing her hands.
"We are not children to foster silly fears," I said. "Of course there are risks in going, but there is certain failure if I do not go. And I go forewarned, with your brother's fate to caution me to be wary, and with the knowledge that you depend upon me to rouse my wits. Do not fear. I shall return and bring with me a plan of action. But if by any chance I should not, you will know there is danger for you. I shall leave Captain von Krugen here, and if on any day he does not hear from me, that very day you and the Baroness Gratz must leave the castle under his care, cross the French frontier, and fly to Paris. I shall leave full directions as to this with von Krugen. From Paris your cause can be best fought. But above all things be careful not to let your whereabouts be known to any one except the captain. He will know from me how to act."
She sat trembling and agitated.
"Why not say at once that the marriage has been broken off, that the plot is abandoned, and cross the frontier immediately?"
"Because I hope to win our way to a far different ending than exile. That is well enough as a last resource of a helpless woman; but these men will find me—well, I will utter no big words till I know more and have done something. I am looking for a stroke of double cunning somewhere, and I do not expect to look in vain. In my view you are safe so long as these men believe we have no suspicion of them; but their attitude toward you may change at any moment. And now remember that even von Krugen, honest and stanch as I believe him, must know nothing of our abandonment of the plot on which he has set his hopes. I am compelled to mislead even him, and the secret must be yours and mine—ours only. You promise?"
"From the bottom of my heart," she answered earnestly, putting her hand into mine. "When shall I see you again?" she asked suddenly. "I can be brave when you are with me, and I will try not to play the coward in your absence. But"—with a sigh—"I have no friend but you."
"Yes, you have a stanch and brave friend in Captain von Krugen," I answered, "and I shall be back within a few days."
I spoke cheeringly and as though with absolute conviction.
"You have opened a new gate of hope for me, cousin," she said as I rose from beside her. "But the thought of your leaving me is almost like shutting it again."
"It shall never be shut, if I can help it, until you have passed through to a safe and happy life."
I spoke earnestly as I felt, and with that I left her.
I had much to do before I could set out on my journey, and one matter especially troubled me. I must stop von Fromberg from selling the property of which the old lawyer had spoken to me, and I was at a loss how to communicate with him. To send a letter through the post I dared not; to go to him myself was impossible; yet whom could I trust to carry a letter or message? If the sale were not stopped, suspicion would certainly be created; and after much consideration I resolved to word a guarded letter addressed to Henri Frombe, and entrust it to Steinitz. I had meant to take him with me to Munich lest I should need assistance, but this other matter was more urgent.
I sent for him now and charged him on his honor to take the letter, and himself to place it in M. Frombe's hands when no one else was present; to ask no questions, and to answer none; but simply to bring back to me direct to Munich the reply, and not to breathe a word to a soul about the mission.
"My life may depend on your loyalty," I said when I gave him the packet, "and probably also that of the Countess Minna, and most certainly the whole future of our scheme," and I exacted a pledge of loyalty.
It was a risk, of course, but then risks were all about me, and I could not avoid taking some. All I could hope to do was to manage to select the smaller ones.
Then I had a close and, to a point, confidential conference with von Krugen; and I explained clearly what he was to do in the event of anything happening to me at Munich.
"If there is no treachery there will be no danger in this journey of mine; but if there is, and I am only too sure of it, then we know that those who are playing traitor will try to get rid of me in order to render my cousin helpless and in their power. That you must prevent; and her safety will rest almost solely with you."
"But the Count von Nauheim?" he asked in some surprise.
"You will trust no one but yourself, captain," I returned significantly.
"If I had proof that he was a traitor!" he growled.
"I am going to get proofs concerning everything. Unless this is all genuine, our scheme is bound to be shipwrecked."
His face grew very dark and lowering.
"My place is by your side in Munich," he said.
"If I can find the traitors, you may share in their punishment; but meanwhile your place is here in Gramberg to guard my cousin. And if you should have even a thought of danger while I am away, call me back at once. But if my calculations are correct there will be no immediate danger for her."
"Your Highness will not reckon on me in vain. But I would to God I could be with you there. You are taking your life in your hands, and ought not to go alone."
"If there is that amount of danger, better I alone than you with me; but I am well prepared, and shall not suffer things to reach that pass"—and I repeated at great length and detail all that I wished him to do in the event of his having to fly to Paris.
At the close of the interview he gave me a solemn pledge to carry out my wishes, and showed many signs of loyal regard for myself, mingled with genuine anxiety as to the issue of this journey to Munich. Then I sent word to von Nauheim that I should be ready to start with him on the following day, and I passed a sleepless, tossing night seeking to piece together in a connected whole the fragments of the problem as I possessed them, and to estimate the actual perils and risks of what I knew must be an eventful journey.
When we started for Munich it required very little observation to see that von Nauheim was striving sedulously to conceal the fact that he attached such critical importance to my accompanying him. Indeed, had I had no prior knowledge of him, I think his demeanor would have roused my suspicions.
"I suppose you will tell me what passed between you and Minna yesterday," he said when we were in the train. "You've produced a considerable change in her, for I found her much more willing to go on with us than she was before."
"I gave her to understand that very much must depend on the result of this journey. If I am satisfied that there is reason to hope for success, it will be at least an impartial opinion—for at present I have not much faith. And I suppose she attaches a great deal of importance to that."
"Did you urge her not to throw us over? I presume you did."
"Why should I? I am not convinced myself."
"Well, here are signs enough of the popular indignation, at any rate," he said as he tossed me a morning paper with some very strong comments on the lunatic King's acts.
"Discontent is one thing, rebellion another," I replied as I opened the paper to read what he pointed out. I had no wish to talk, but to think, and I made as though I were engrossed in the paper.
My companion took another journal and played at reading it; but I saw him watching me every now and then, until the paper fell on his lap, and he stared out of the window obviously buried in his thoughts. I knew the tenor of them later when his face changed, and he turned to speak.
"You will stay with me, of course, Prince?" he said.
"Certainly," I replied readily, although half a hundred suspicions were started of his probably sinister motive for the invitation.
"It will be so much more convenient for our purpose than your going to the Gramberg town-house," he said. "I've been thinking of the best course to take. What sort of proof do you wish to have that measures are ripe?"
"An interview with those who are to carry them out, of course."
"That will be best; and fortunately most of them are in Munich. Then I presume you will be prepared to do what all the rest of us have done—take an oath of allegiance to the new Queen?"
"When I join you, I will do whatever the rest do."
"We are all pledged to the hilt. Every man of us has made the oath and signed a declaration to uphold the good cause."
"Signed a declaration? That seems a strong step," I said, though all forms were pretty much the same thing to me.
"But a necessary one. There is no drawing back then," he answered.
"Well, I will sign what I see others sign and do what others do," I replied firmly. "But, understand, I must see these things done before my eyes." I said this because of an idea that flashed into my thoughts at that moment.
"You are disposed to be cautious to the verge of timidity, eh?" he sneered.
"I am resolved to satisfy myself," I returned; and for a reason that I kept to myself I rather liked the idea of what he had said.
After a pause he continued:
"Roughly, what I propose is this: I will take you round to introduce you to the more prominent men—in particular to Baron Heckscher, who is really the leader of us; and then we will have a meeting at my rooms, where everything can be explained and settled. What say you?"
"I agree; but of course I reserve my right to take any other step I may think necessary that suggests itself to me."
"Naturally, naturally!" he exclaimed. "Now that the Prince has gone we are only too glad to have a cautious, calculating head to take his part."
The words were as false as the man. I read it in his tone and manner; and he was far more ready to curse me, had he dared, for my profession of caution. But I pressed it, because I knew that this exaggerated carefulness was the best evidence of my seeming sincerity.
A long silence followed, during which I weighed carefully all he had said. His manner in speaking of these details was tinged by a singular nervousness; he blurted out his points like a man who has been given a task which has overweighted him. And he suggested to me the condition of a poor actor who has had his part drilled into him by a subtler hand, and says his lesson badly.
Presently he began again:
"Of course you'll understand we are all putting ourselves into your hands and in your power in this matter; and the more so with every additional step we take." He was coming to another point in his lesson, I thought. "You will give me your solemn pledge not to divulge a single name you hear, nor a single fact that is told to you. If you'll do that now, I'll give you an outline of our plans at once."
"You can tell me as much or as little as you please. I pledge my honor to use nothing, except as the interest of my cousin may require—and that, I presume, is the intention of all concerned."
He frowned and bit his lips and thought a moment.
"Of course that's the intention; what else could it be?"
"Then if you want me to join you you must trust me; otherwise I may as well go back to Gramberg at once. But, of course, my return will be the signal for throwing the whole thing up at once. It is for you to choose."
"I had better tell you," he said after another pause. "Things are nearly ripe; almost as forward as when that hot-headed fellow Gustav wrecked everything by losing his temper and getting involved in that duel. We have resolved to take up the Prince's scheme pretty much where it was dropped. In a fortnight's time there will be an excellent time for striking the final blow. We have friends in all the public offices; several of the Ministers themselves are ready to welcome the change; the whole bodyguard of the King at the palace is practically composed of our men; and everything promises success. The King will be at the palace, and we have arranged that a great fancy-dress ball shall be given on a certain night. His lunatic Majesty is, as perhaps you know, rather madder on that subject than on any other; and he delights in dressing himself up in half a dozen different costumes in the course of a single night to perplex, as he thinks, all who are present, and get at the real sentiments of his people about him. But his attendants always arrange that his costume shall bear a certain mark by which he will be known. In this way the ass of a King is fooled to the top of his bent, and instead of hearing genuine opinions about himself hears only those which are carefully tuned for his ears. Well, our scheme is to have this royal mark worn by some one who is not the King; to have the King himself seized and placed under restraint; to let Minna be at hand at the ball, and as soon as it is known that the King has gone to proclaim her there and then."
"An ingenious scheme, so far as the easy part of abducting the King is concerned," I replied. "But the difficulties only begin when he is out of the way. What are you going to do with him—kill him?"
"No, there will be no bloodshed. There is no need. The whole country is ready for the abdication; nine-tenths of the best men are on our side—and the other tenth will come in; and to give the thing plausibility we are going to have a sort of drama at the ball, in which the King—the sham one, of course—will announce his abdication and appoint his successor—Minna. That act of abdication will be written, and on examination will be found to be actually in the handwriting of the King himself. The whole scene will be described to the country as an actual occurrence; and this will be on the authority of the foremost men in Bavaria—a sort of informal Council of State. It will be a definite and formal abdication. That of itself will silence opposition and carry the people, who are, indeed, only too eager to need much argument."
"And the King himself?"
"He will simply be put where he ought to have been long enough ago—under restraint."
It was a clever plot, and, given the power behind those carrying it out, as likely to be successful as any that human wit could have devised.
"But what of the Ostenburg interest?" I rapped out the question sharply, with a keen, quick glance, and for a moment it seemed to disconcert him slightly.
"We do not put their power very high," he said then. "They think our chances ended with Gustav's death, and that, now the old Prince has gone, there is no one to carry the thing a step farther. But we must, of course, lose no time, and must strike before they even think we are contemplating any action at all. We shall catch them utterly unprepared; and, in a thing of this kind, to be unprepared is to lose."
"Do you mean you think they will surrender their claim to the throne without a struggle of any sort?"
"No; but they can do nothing when once we are in possession."
"But the Imperial authorities at Berlin, man?"
"The one consideration there is thede factoargument. Let us get possession, backed by formal abdication and the actual document appointing Minna to the succession, and Berlin may do what it likes. They will think twice before risking a civil war in the country to maintain the rights of a lunatic. At least so longer heads than mine hold, and I agree with them."
"Well, I shall see," and I was bound to confess to myself that, if everything was genuine, the inference he drew was right. I knew enough of the sort of argument that weighs at Berlin to be sure of this.
But was it genuine? If not, where was the flaw? And all the rest of the journey I sat pondering this part of the problem, and reviewing again and again all he had said.
I was much impressed by it.
Two points in particular stood out boldly in my thoughts: If this plot could be carried through—and I was half inclined to believe it possible—Minna could make far better terms, if she still wished to recede, when success had been attained than she could at present. If there were at the back of the scheme all this influence of which von Nauheim had spoken, it would be a dangerous thing for her to throw over those who had supported her without securing, at least, their safety as well as her own. That would be dishonorable and cowardly, and I knew she would not consent to such a course. If these representations were correct, therefore, I began to fear that Minna had been too far pledged to be able to draw back at this juncture. We must go forward until the best terms could be made.
But against this I knew that the man who was giving me the information was as false as hell itself; and, even while I sat meditating and brooding over what he had said, I caught the swift, searching, cunning glances which he darted every now and then at me as if to see how far he had fooled me.
It was in this mood of fresh doubt that I arrived at Munich, and drove with him to his rooms. The sumptuous comfort and costly appointments of these surprised me. When I had known him years before, he had had but scanty means, and his family were comparatively poor. Yet these rooms of his were fit for a man of the largest fortune. Even this circumstance added to my suspicions. If he was a traitor, he was being well paid for his treachery.
The journey with me in the train and the fact that he was now in his own house seemed to put him more at his ease.
"I shall have to leave you for a considerable time, Prince, while I prepare our friends for your visits," he said; "but you will of course consider this quite as your own house. This evening, or probably to-morrow, we can get to work. In the mean time, if you do not already know Munich, you will find no lack of interesting sights."
For the rest of that day I was left to my own devices, and we did not meet until late in the evening, when he told me his plans for the next day, and that he had arranged for a round of interviews with the leading men on our side.
The result of them was only to increase my perplexity. Wherever I went I was welcomed cordially, my co-operation requested, my caution approved, and the most complete assurances given to me on all points. Had the success of the scheme depended entirely upon my joining in it, I could not have been more warmly welcomed.
I could not understand it in the least. Every question I asked was answered, as it seemed, quite fully and frankly; and every investigation I made only convinced me that the ramifications of the plot were vastly wider than I imagined, and that the prospects of success were enough to force me to believe in it.
And yet I could not shake off my suspicions. I could find no ground for them other than my knowledge of von Nauheim. There was nothing but that to warrant them. But the more closely I watched him the more uneasy I became, and the more convinced that he at least had some double motive.
I was in the position of a man who is being persuaded to a course he dislikes against every prejudice and instinct of his nature, and despite his earnest desire to trust his instinct. I did not wish to find the affair genuine, but I could find no flaw anywhere, probe, search, suspect, and investigate as I would.
At the end of the fourth day I could not deny they had a right to ask for a definite decision for me to throw in my lot with them, and, while I was dead against doing so, I could not suggest a single reason of value and force for my opinion. The meeting to receive my decision was fixed for the sixth evening, and I looked forward to it with considerable apprehension.
The previous day I resolved to use for a purpose that was almost as critical as the object of the visit to Munich. It was an inquiry that I alone could make as to von Nauheim's past.
I knew that in the days when he had dealt his dastardly injury on my family he had a wife, whom he had married secretly, living in Thuringia. I was almost alone in the knowledge, which I had gained by accident, and my purpose now was to ascertain if she was still alive.
Fortune favored my investigation. The wife was still in the town, living in a humble way as a shop-keeper, and still ignorant of the real position and character of her husband. I had no difficulty in finding her, and using part of my knowledge of years before. I had some conversation with her and her two children, eliciting the fact that she had not seen von Nauheim for years, did not know whether he was alive or dead, and did not care. She was earning her own living and educating her children, and prayed only that she might be troubled by the man no more.
It was not my cue to stir muddy waters. All I needed was to know where to put my hand upon her at any moment that it might be necessary to spoil the scoundrel's schemes.
The villain meant to deceive Minna von Gramberg as he had deceived my sister years before, and my thoughts about him were bitter and black and wrathful as the train whirled me back through the summer night to Munich. But I was jubilant too; for I held the knowledge that must inevitably frustrate his scheme, and I resolved that I would use it at the forthcoming meeting, if no other cause suggested itself, to refuse to go forward any farther. It was, of course, an ample reason for such refusal; and as I had the proofs so fresh in my hands, there was not a man of honor in the affair who would not say I was doing right. But events were to happen destined to change all this current of my thoughts.