The Stein-schloss had been the feudal keep; now it served as the city prison.  Its grim gray stones were battle-scarred and time-worn; a place of deep dungeons, huge bolts and bars, and narrow slits in the stone for windows.  The prison was both civil and military, but was patrolled and sentineled by soldiers.  The king and his uncle had been given adjoining cells on the ground floor.  These cells were dry, and light entered from the modern windows in the wall of the corridor.  The princess and her protegee were admitted without objection.  The sergeant in charge of that floor even permitted them to go into the corridor unattended.

Voices.

“Hush!” whispered her highness, pressing Gretchen’s arm.

“Ach! Wail, dear nephew, beat your hands upon the bars, curse, waste your breath on stone.  Did I not warn you against this very thing when you proposed this mad junket?  Well, there are two of us.  A fine scandal!  They will laugh at us for months to come.”

“Woe to the duke for this affront!”

Gretchen started to speak, but the princess quickly put her hand over the goose-girl’s mouth.

“Ha!  So war is gathering in your veins?”

“I will have revenge for this!”

“Good!  Bang—­bang!  Slash and cut!  War is a great invention—­on paper.  Come, my boy; you were sensible enough when they brought us here.  Control yourself.  Be a king in all the word implies.  For my part, I begin to see.”

“And what do you see?”

“I see that the duke knows who we are, even if his police do not.  He will keep us here a day or two, and then magnanimously liberate us with profuse apologies.  We shall be escorted to the frontier with honors.  His highness loves a jest too well to let this chance escape.  Besides, I see in the glass the fine Italian hand of Herbeck.  I have always heard that he was a great statesman.  Swallow your wrath, even if your tongue goes down with it.”

“Gretchen, Gretchen!” said the king.

Gretchen could stand it no longer.  She wrenched herself free from the grasp of the princess, who, with pitying heart, understood all now.  Poor unhappy Gretchen!

“Here I am, Leopold!” the goose-girl cried, pressing her body against the bars and thrusting her hands through them.

“The devil!” murmured the man in the other cell.

“You here, Gretchen?” The king covered her hands with passionate kisses.

“Yes, yes!  They have made a dreadful mistake.  You are no spy from Jugendheit.”

“No, Gretchen,” said the voice from the next cell.  “He is far worse than that.  He is the king, Gretchen, the king.”

“Uncle!” in anguish.

“Let us have it over with,” replied Prince Ludwig sadly.

“The king?” Gretchen laughed shrilly.  “What jest is this, Leopold?”

The king, still holding her hands, looked down.

“Leopold?” plaintively.