at daybreak, and,
if he's not released to-day, there will be murder."

"My dear woman," interposed Mademoiselle Kramer, "his majesty the king
declared a general amnesty at the birth of the crown prince. That
covers your son's case, does it not?"

"No; that's the very trouble. All the courts in the country are against
my Thomas. Look at this. It's all there. The innkeeper wrote it down,
better than I can tell you. The writing must reach the king before
noon, or it'll be too late. My son Thomas is walking up and down out
there, and it's an even chance whether he goes to heaven or hell. He's
got a double-barreled pistol with him, and he'll shoot the first man he
looks at and himself, too, before this very palace, if I go out there
without having done anything for him."

"Yes, but I can't run up to the king as I would to the innkeeper, or
I'd gladly do it."

"I must sit down, my knees are breaking under me," exclaimed Zenza;
and Mademoiselle Kramer hurried to bring her a chair. And while
she sat there with drooping head, great tears dropped upon the bony,
thick-veined hands that lay folded on her knees.

Walpurga motioned to Mademoiselle Kramer, who was trying to console the
old woman. She wanted to tell her that Zenza was not so very good,
after all, and that Thomas was still worse; but Mademoiselle Kramer
turned about and said:

"I have an idea. Countess Wildenort's brother is aid-de-camp
to his
majesty, and, in half an hour from now, will present his report and get
the countersign. Now, Walpurga, go to Countess Irma at once and request
her to hand the petition to her brother, so that he may submit it to
his majesty."

"Yes, yes, do go--do! Lord, what a wise angel you have here with you,
Walpurga;--but go right off--don't lose a moment! May I stay here a
little while longer, or shall I wait down there before the palace?"

"No! you may remain here, my good woman," said Mademoiselle Kramer,
consoling her. "But hurry yourself," said she, addressing Walpurga, who
still held the letter before her, and stood there as if immovable.

Walpurga left the apartment. When she drew near to Irma's door, she
heard the countess, with fervid expression, singing Schumann's song to
Friedrich Rueckert's words:

He came to me,
In storm and rain,
And boldly, he
My heart hath ta'en.

Was my heart won,