“Don’t be a fool, Mr. John Armitage.  Much as you have grieved me, I should hate to see you in a madhouse.”

“My faculties, poor as they are, were never clearer.  I repeat that if I were going to furnish the brains for an empire I should ride in the state carriage myself, and not be merely the driver on the box, who keeps the middle of the road and looks out for sharp corners.  Here is a plan ready to my hand.  Let me find that lost document, appear in Vienna and announce myself Frederick Augustus, the son of the Archduke Karl!  I knew both men intimately.  You may remember that Frederick and I were born in the same month.  I, too, am Frederick Augustus!  We passed commonly in America as brothers.  Many of the personal effects of Karl and Augustus are in my keeping—­by the Archduke’s own wish.  You have spent your life studying human nature, and you know as well as I do that half the world would believe my story if I said I was the Emperor’s nephew.  In the uneasy and unstable condition of your absurd empire I should be hailed as a diversion, and then—­events, events!”

Count von Stroebel listened with narrowing eyes, and his lips moved in an effort to find words with which to break in upon this impious declaration.  When Armitage ceased speaking the old man sank back and glared at him.

“Karl did his work well.  You are quite mad.  You will do well to go back to America before the police discover you.”

Armitage rose and his manner changed abruptly.

“I do not mean to trouble or annoy you.  Please pardon me!  Let us be friends, if we can be nothing more.”

“It is too late.  The chasm is too deep.”

The old minister sighed deeply.  His fingers touched the despatch box as though by habit.  It represented power, majesty and the iron game of government.  The young man watched him eagerly.

The heavy, tremulous hands of Count von Stroebel passed back and forth over the box caressingly.  Suddenly he bent forward and spoke with a new and gentler tone and manner.

“I have given my life, my whole life, as you have said, to one service—­to uphold one idea.  You have spoken of that work with contempt.  History, I believe, will reckon it justly.”

“Your place is secure—­no one can gainsay that,” broke in Armitage.

“If you would do something for me—­for me—­do something for Austria, do something for my country and yours!  You have wits; I dare say you have courage.  I don’t care what that service may be; I don’t care where or how you perform it.  I am not so near gone as you may think.  I know well enough that they are waiting for me to die; but I am in no hurry to afford my enemies that pleasure.  But stop this babble of yours about democracy. Do something for Austria—­for the Empire that I have held here under my hand these difficult years—­then take your name again—­and you will find that kings can be as just and wise as mobs.”