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Pale, worn, almost a shadow of his former self. Was it Harry Wendel? He had aged forty years. He was stooped, withered, exhausted. A bottle of brandy on the desk before him. In his weak, thin hand an empty wineglass. The gem upon his finger glowed with a flame that was almost wicked; it was blue, burning, giving out sparkles of light like a colour out of hell.
Louise von Schwerin shall no longer be ashamed of the love of Fritz Wendel; I will tell her what I have seen, I will take her into the grotto, and let her witness the rendezvous of the prince and his beloved, and whilst he is telling Laura of his love, I will be with my Louise." Laura was not mistaken. It was the king whom the castle guard were saluting with the beat of the drum.
"You would like to become a general, in order to marry the daughter of a count?" "Not the daughter of a count, but " "Fritz Wendel! Fritz Wendel!" called a voice in the distance. "It is the head gardener," said poor Fritz, sadly. "Farewell, farewell; be kind and gracious, and come again to-morrow to the garden." He took his basket of flowers, and hurried down the avenue.
Wendel, what is it? Has it really anything to do with father?" I nodded. "I think it has, Miss Holcomb. And I can understand poor Chick. He is a very brave man. It's a strange jewel and of terrible potency; that much I know. It devitalises; it destroys. I can feel it already. It covers life with a fog of decay. The same solitude has come upon myself.
He unfastened and removed Louise's mantle, and handed her the veil and wreath. Then he threw back his hood, and removed his cloak. Louise uttered a cry of amazement and horror. He who stood before her was not her lover, was not the gardener Fritz Wendel, but a strange young officer in full-dress uniform!
The young lady having watched her silent, dreaming "first lover" long enough, and tired of this unnatural silence, walked forward from her place of concealment, and bade Fritz Wendel good-morning, just as he was gathering a beautiful narcissus.
She is so stupid that if that instinct of self-preservation were not so complete as to be like a divine guide, she would commit betises all the time. As it is, when she takes a lover it is hidden with the cunning of a fox." "Who did you say the first husband was ?" "A German of the name of Von Wendel he used to beat her with a stick, it is said so naturally such a nature adored him.
"I have never been ordered to gather the most beautiful flowers for the princess," said Fritz Wendel, who had not yet dared to glance at the young lady. "The prince royal commanded me to place fresh flowers in the vases every morning; that is all."
I grant you your price," said he; "speak on." So Fritz Wendel began. He made known the engagement of the prince; he explained the plan of flight; he was so clear, so exact in all his statements, that Frederick soon saw he was no maniac; that these were no pictures of a disordered brain, but a threatening, frightful reality.
I do this in the interests of strict, scientific accuracy, to satisfy those who would contend that, having utterly vanished from sight and sound of man, Harry Wendel is no more. But in my own heart is the firm conviction that he is still very much alive.
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