Listen. As sure as we are in this room
together, I believe that she whom we call the princess is not the
daughter of the grand duke."
Carmichael sat down on the edge of the bed, numb and without any clear
idea where he was. From the stony look on his face, Grumbach might have
carried the head of Medusa in his hand. The blood beat into his head
with many strange noises. But by and by the world became clearer and
brighter till all things took on the rosal tint of dawn. Free! If she
was not a princess, she was free, free!
The duke allowed the quartet to remain standing for some time. He strode
up and down before them, his eyes straining at the floor, his hands
behind his back. He was in fatigue-dress, and only the star of
Ehrenstein glittered on his breast. He was never without this order. All
at once he whirled round, and as a sailor plunges the lead into the
sea, so he plumbed the very deeps of their eyes as if he would see
beforehand what strange things were at work in their souls. "I do not
recognize any of these persons," he said to Carmichael.
"Your highness does not recognize me, then?" asked the clock-mender.
"Come closer," commanded the duke. The clock-mender obeyed. "Take off
those spectacles." The duke scanned the features, and over his own came
the dawn of recollection.
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