"Admit her."
"Truly we are becoming socialists," said the duke, appealing to Herbeck,
who replied with his usual grim smile.
Gretchen was ushered in. Her throat was a little full as she recognized
the three most important persons in the grand duchy. Outwardly she was
composed. She made a curtsy to which the duke replied with his most
formal bow of state. The sparkle of amusement was in his eyes.
"The little goose-girl!" he said half-audibly.
"Yes, Highness." Gretchen's face was serious and her eyes were mournful.
She carried an envelope in her hand tightly.
"Come to me, Gretchen," said the princess.
"What is it?"
Gretchen's eyes roamed undecidedly from the duke to Herbeck.
"She is dead, Highness, and I found this letter under her pillow."
It was Herbeck's hand that took the envelope. But he did not open it at
once.
"Dead?" Hildegarde's eyes filled.
"Who is dead?" demanded the duke.
"Emma Schultz, father. Oh, I know you will forgive me for this
deception. She has been in Dreiberg for a month, dying, and I have often
stolen out to see her." She let her tears fall unrestrained.
The duke stared at the rug. Presently he said: "Let her be buried in
consecrated ground. Wrong or right, that chapter is closed, my child,
and I am glad you made her last moments happy.
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