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Updated: June 14, 2025
As the road descended into the foothills, there were other tracks in the thin snow, and more than once they roused Nikky's victim to pick out his own tire marks. He obeyed dully. When at last the trail turned from the highway toward the shooting-box at Wedeling, Mettlich fell back with something between a curse and a groan. "The fool!" he muttered. "The young fool! It was madness."
Youth would pass, and love with it, but the country must survive. The battle, which was no battle at all, was won. He had won. The country had won. The Crown Prince had won. Only Hedwig had lost. And only Mettlich knew just how she had lost. When the Council, bowing deep, had gone away, the Chancellor remained standing by a window. He was feeling old and very tired.
The Chancellor had seen the body an unpleasant sight. But it was not of the dead man that General Mettlich thought. It was of the other. The dead tell nothing. But the living, under torture, tell many things. And this man Haeckel, young as he was, knew much that was vital.
"It was my hope, sire," replied the Chancellor dryly. The necessity for work brought the King the strength to do it. Mettlich remained with him. Boxes were brought from vaults, unlocked and examined. Secretaries came and went. At eight o'clock a frugal dinner was spread in the study, and they ate it almost literally over state documents. On and on, until midnight or thereabouts. Then they stopped.
The thing was arranged. Nothing was left now but to carry the word to Karl. Two things were necessary: Haste. The King, having determined it, would lose no time. And dignity. The granddaughter of the King must be offered with ceremony. No ordinary King's messenger, then, but some dignitary of the Court. To this emergency Mettlich rose like the doughty old warrior and statesman that he was.
Hilda stood by the stand, and fingered the bottles. Her nose was swollen with crying, but she was stealthily removing corks and sniffing at the contents of the bottles with the automatic curiosity of the young. The King roused again. "Mettlich?" he asked. The elder Sister tiptoed to the door and opened it. The Council turned, dread on their faces. She placed a hand on the Chancellor's shoulder.
Just outside the royal box, on the red-velvet sofa, General Mettlich, who was the Chancellor, and had come because he had been invited and stayed outside because he said he liked to hear music, not see it, was sound asleep. His martial bosom, with its gold braid, was rising and falling peacefully. Beside him lay the Prince's crown, a small black derby hat.
His thin, arched nose looked pinched. His face was gray. "All this," he said, "means what? To make the boy a prisoner, to cut off his few pleasures, and even then, at any time " "Yes, sire," said Mettlich doggedly. "At any time." Outside in the anteroom Lieutenant Nikky Larisch roused himself, yawned, and looked at his watch. It was after twelve, and he had had a hard day.
He put resolutely out of his mind the face of the dying man on his pillows, and thought only of this thing which he Mettlich had brought about. There was no yielding in his face or in his heart, no doubt of his course.
"Catch me!" said Hedwig, and dug her royal heels into her horse's flanks. The Crown Prince climbed into his saddle and followed. They were off. The riding-school had been built for officers of the army, but was now used by the Court only. Here the King had ridden as a lad with young Mettlich, his close friend even then.
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