h, what to her were crowns and kingdoms, aye, and even war?
Her father dead, what mattered it who reigned? How she prayed that he
might live! They would go away together, and live in peace and quiet,
undisturbed by the storms of intrigue.... It was not to be; he was
dying. She would be the wife of no man; her father, hovering in spirit
above her, would read her heart and understand. Dead, he would ask no
sacrifice of her. Henceforth only God would be her king, and she would
worship him in some sacred convent.

The old valet, who had served his master from boyhood, stood in the
anteroom and fumbled his lips, his faded eyes red with weeping. He was
losing the only friend he had. Elsewhere the servants wandered about
restlessly, waiting for news from the front, to learn if they, too, were
to join in the mad flight from the city. Few servants love masters in
adversity. Self-interest is the keynote to their existences.

In the east wing three men were holding a whispered consultation. The
faces of two were pale and deep-lined; the face of the third expressed
a mixture of condolence and triumph. These three gentlemen were the
archbishop, the chancellor and the Austrian ambassador. History has not
taken into account what passed between these three men, but subsequent
events proved that it signified disaster to one who dreamed of conquest
and of power.

Said the ambassador, rising: "After what has been said, his Imperial
Majesty will, I can speak authoritatively, further discredit Walmoden;
for I have this day received information from a reliable source which
precludes any rehabilitation of that prince. My deepest sympathies are
with her Highness; his Majesty highly honored her unfortunate father.
Permit me to bid you good day, for you know that the matter under my
hand needs my immediate attention."

When he had gone the prelate said: "My friend, our services to the
kingdom are nearly over."

"We are lost!" replied the chancellor. "The king is happy, indeed."

"I find," said the prelate, "that we have been lost for ten years. Had
this Englishman proved true, it would not have mattered; had Prince
Frederick arrived in time, still it would not have mattered. But above
all, I was determined that Madame the duchess should not triumph. The
end was written ten years ago. How invincible is fate! How incontestible
its decrees!"

In the lower town the students were preparing a riot, which was to take
place that night. Old Stule