"But, Mr. Carmichael, what is _your_ interest in Gretchen?"
Carmichael trembled with joy. Here was an opening for a double shot. "My
interest in her is better than yours, for I have not asked her to become
a king's mistress."
His royal highness bit his lip.
"Uncle!" cried the king, horrified at this revelation.
"Mr. Carmichael evidently has applied his ear to some keyhole."
"No, thank you! The window was open. My clerk heard you plainly."
"Uncle, is this damnable thing true?"
"Yes. What would you? You were determined to make a fool of yourself.
But rest easy. She is ignorant where this offer came from, and,
moreover, she spurned it, as Mr. Carmichael's clerk will affirm. Oh,
Gretchen is a fine little woman, and I would to God she was of your
station!" And the mask fell from the regent's face, leaving it bitter
and careworn. "Our presence is known in Dreiberg; it has been known for
three days at least. And in coming up here I had another errand. Oh, I
haven't forgotten it. In the street there are at least ten soldiers
under the sub-chief of the police; rather a curious conjunction."
The king turned white. So it had come at last!
Carmichael ran to the rear window. He shrugged. "There's half a dozen in
the garden, too.
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