"Yes, you laughed, and you were right to laugh, when I spoke of my honor; I who have no honor; I who have shamed my name; I upon whose brow is the sign of murder: for I am guilty of the ruin of a man, and the chains on his hands are cursing my name."
"My God! He is mad," murmured Rosa.
"No, I am not mad," said he, with a heart-breaking smile. "I know all, all! Were I mad, I would not be so unhappy. Were I unconscious, I would suffer less. But, no, I remember all. I know how this evil commenced, how it grew and poisoned my heart. The evil was my poverty, my covetousness, and perhaps also my ambition. I was not content to bear forever the chains of bondage; I wished to be free from want.
I determined it should no more be said that the sisters of Count Weingarten had to earn their bread by their needlework, while he feasted sumptuously at the royal table. This it was that caused my ruin.
These frightful words buzzed in my ears so long, that in my despair I determined to stop them at any price, and so I committed my first crime, and received a golden reward for my treason. My sisters did not work now; I bought a small house for them, and gave them all that I received.
I shuddered at the sight of this money; I would keep none of it. I was again the poor secretary Weingarten, but my family was not helpless; they had nothing to fear."
To whom was he telling all this? Certainly not to that young girl standing before him, pale and trembling. He had forgotten himself; he had forgotten her whom in other days he had called his heart's darling.
As she sank at his feet and covered his hands with her tears, he rose hastily from his seat; he now remembered that he was not alone.
"What have I said?" cried he, wildly. "Why do you weep?"
"I weep because you have forgotten me," said she, softly; "I weep because, in accusing yourself, you make no excuse for your crime; not even your love for your poor Rosa."
"It is true," said he, sadly, "I had forgotten our love. And still it is the only excuse that I have for my second crime. I had determined to be a good man, and to expiate my one crime throughout my whole life. But when I saw you, your beauty fascinated me, and you drew me on. I went with open eyes into the net which you prepared for me, Rosa. I allowed myself to be allured by your beauty, knowing well that it would draw me into a frightful abyss."
"Ah," said Rosa, groaning, "how cruelly you speak of our love!"
"Of our love!" repeated he, shrugging his shoulders. "Child, in this hour we will be true to each other. Ours was no true love. You were in love with my noble name and position--I with your youth, your beauty, your coquettish ways. Our souls were not in unison. You gave yourself to me, not because you loved me, but because you wished to deceive me.
I allowed myself to be deceived because of your loveliness and because I saw the golden reward which your deceitful love would bring me."
"You are cruel and unjust," said Rosa, sadly. "It may be true that you never loved me, but I loved you truly. I gave you my whole heart."
"Yes, and in giving it," said he, harshly--"in giving it you had the presence of mind to keep the aim of your tenderness always in view.
While your arms were around me, your little hand which seemed to rest upon my heart, sought for the key which I always kept in my vest-pocket, and which I had lately told you belonged to the desk in which the important papers of the embassy were placed. You found this key, Rosa, and I knew it, but I only laughed, and pressed you closer to my heart."
"Terrible! terrible!" said Rosa, trembling. "He knew all, and still he let me do it!"
"Yes I allowed you to do it--I did not wish to be better than the girl I loved: and, as she desired to deceive me, I let myself be deceived. I allowed it, because the demon of gold had taken possession of me. I took the important papers out of my desk, to which you had stolen the key, and hid them. Then the tempters came and whispered of golden rewards, of eternal gratitude, of fortune, honor; and these fiendish whispers misled my soul. I sold my honor and became a traitor, and all this for the sake of gold! So I became what I now am. I do not reproach you Rosa, for most likely it would have happened without you."
"But what danger threatens you now?" asked Rosa.
"The just punishment for a traitor," said he, hoarsely. "Give me some wine, Rosa, so that I can gain strength to go to the king at once."
"To the king at this early hour?"
"And why not? Have I not been with him often at this hour, when I had important news or dispatches to give him? So give me the wine, Rosa."
Rosa left the room, but returned almost instantly. He took the bottle from her and filled a glass hastily.
"Now," said he, breathing deeply, "I feel that I live again. My blood flows freely through my veins, and my heart is beating loudly. Now to the king!"
He stood before a glass for a moment to arrange his hair; then pressed a cold kiss upon Rosa's pale, trembling lips, and left the room. With a firm, sure tread, he hurried through the halls and chambers. No one stopped him, for no one was there to see him. In the king's antechamber sat Deesen taking his breakfast.
"Is the king up?" asked Weingarten.
"The sun has been up for hours, and so of course the king is up," said Deesen, proudly.
"Announce me to his majesty; I have some important news for him."
He entered the king's chamber, and returned in a few moments for Weingarten.
The king was sitting in an arm-chair by a window, which he had opened to breathe the fresh summer air. His white greyhound, Amalthea, lay at his feet, looking up at him with his soft black eyes. In his right hand the king held his flute.
"You are early, sir," said he, turning to Weingarten. "You must have very important news."
"Yes, sire, very important," said Weingarten, approaching nearer.
The king reached out his hand. "Give them to me," said he.
"Sire, I have no dispatches."
"A verbal message, then. Speak."
"Sire, all is lost; Count Puebla suspects me."
The king was startled for a moment, but collected himself immediately.
"He suspects, but he is certain of nothing?"
"No, sire; but his suspicion amounts almost to certainty. Yesterday I was copying a dispatch which was to go that evening, and which was of the highest importance to your majesty, when I suddenly perceived Count Puebla standing beside me at my desk. He had entered my room very quietly, which showed that he had his suspicions, and was watching me.
He snatched my copy from the desk and read it. 'For whom is this?' said he, in a threatening tone. I stammered forth some excuses; said that I intended writing a history, and that I took a copy of all dispatches for my work. He would not listen to me. 'You are a traitor!' said he, in a thundering voice. 'I have suspected you for some time; I am now convinced of your treachery. You shall have an examination tomorrow; for to-night you will remain a prisoner in your room.' He then locked my desk, put the key in his pocket, and, taking with him the dispatch and my copy, left the room. I heard him lock it and bolt my door. I was a prisoner."
"How did you get out?" said the king.
"By the window, sire. And I flew here to throw myself at your majesty's feet, and to beg for mercy and protection."
"I promised you protection and help in case of your detection--I will fulfil my promise. What are your wishes. Let us see if they can be realized."
"Will your majesty give me some sure place of refuge where Count Puebla's threats cannot harm me?"
"You will remain here in the dwelling of the castle-warder until a suitable residence can be found for you. What next? What plans have you made for the future?"
"I would humbly beseech your majesty to give me some position in your land worthy of my station, such as your highness promised me."
"You remember too many of my promises," said the king, shrugging his shoulders.
"Your majesty will not grant me the promised position?" said Count Weingarten, tremblingly.
"I remember no such promise," said Frederick. "Men of your stamp are paid, but not rewarded. I have made use of your treachery; but you are, nevertheless, in my eyes a traitor, and I will have none such in my service."
"Then I am lost!" said Weingarten. "My honor, my good name, my future are annihilated."
"Your honor has been weighed with gold," said the king, sternly, "and I think I have already paid more for it than it was worth. Your good name, it is true, will be from now changed into a bad one; and your mother will have to blush when she uses it. Therefore I advise you to let it go; to take another name; to begin a new existence, and to found a new future."
"A future without honor, without name, without position!" sighed Weingarten, despairingly.