The lights of the city presently vanished, and the long journey began,
through the great clefts in the mountains, over gorges, across rivers,
along wide valleys, and into the mountains again; a journey of nearly
seventy hours. At each stop Carmichael got out, and every time he
returned Hans could read disappointment on his face. Still he said
nothing. He was an admirable comrade.
By the aid of certain small briberies on the train and in Paris
Carmichael gathered, bit by bit, that the destination of the woman he
loved was America. But never once did he set eyes upon her till she and
her father mounted the gang-plank to the vessel which was to carry them
across the wide Atlantic. The change in Herbeck was pitiable. His face
had aged twenty years in these sixty odd hours. His clothes, the same he
had worn that ever-memorable night, hung loosely about his gaunt frame,
and there was a vacancy in his eyes which was eloquent of mental
collapse. The girl quietly and tenderly guided him to the deck and
thence to his stateroom. Carmichael abided his time.
A French newspaper contained a full account of Herbeck's _coup_ and his
subsequent flight. It also recounted the excitement of the following
day, the appearance of Gretchen on the steps of the palace, and the
great shouting of the people as they acclaimed her the queen of
Jugendheit.
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