“Do nothing in haste, your Highness.  Temporize; say that you desire some time to think about the matter.  You can change your mind at any time.  A reply like this commits you to nothing, whereas your abrupt refusal will only widen the breach.”

“The wider the breach the better.”

“No, no, your Highness; the past has disturbed you.  We can stand war, and it is possible that we might win, even against Jugendheit; but war at this late day would be a colossal blunder.  Victory would leave us where we began thirty years ago.  One does not go to war for a cause that has been practically dead these sixteen years.  And an insult to Jugendheit might precipitate war.  It would be far wiser to let me answer the prince regent, saying that your highness will give the proposal your thoughtful consideration.”

“Have your way, then, but on your head be it if you commit me to anything.”

The duke was about to gather up his documentary evidence, when Herbeck touched his hand.

“I have an idea,” said the chancellor.  “A great many letters reach me from day to day.  I have an excellent memory.  Who knows but that I might find the true conspirator, the archplotter?  Leave them with me, your Highness.”

“I shall not ask you to be careful with them, Herbeck.”

“I shall treasure them as my life.”

The duke departed, stirred as he had not been since the restoration of the princess.  Herbeck sometimes irritated him, for he was never in the wrong, he was never impatient, he was never hasty, he never had to go over a thing twice.  This supernal insight, which overlooked all things but results, set the duke wondering if Herbeck was truly all human.  If only he could catch him at fault once in a while!

Count von Herbeck remained at his desk, his face as inscrutable as ever, his eyes without expression, and his lips expressing nothing.  He smoothed out a sheet of paper, affixed the state seal, and in a flowing hand wrote a diplomatic note, considering the proposal of his royal highness, the prince regent of Jugendheit, on behalf of his nephew, the king.  This he placed in the diplomatic pouch, called for a courier, and despatched him at once for the frontier.

The duke sought his daughter.  She was in the music-room, surrounded by several of her young women companions, each holding some musical instrument in her hands.  Hildegarde was singing.  The duke paused, shutting his eyes and striving to recall the voice of the mother.  When the voice died away and the young women leaned back in their chairs to rest, the duke approached.  Upon seeing him all rose.  With a smile he dismissed them.

“My child,” he began, taking Hildegarde’s hand and drawing her toward a window-seat, “the king of Jugendheit asks for your hand.”

“Mine, father?”

“Even so.”

“Then I am to marry the king of Jugendheit?” There was little joy in her voice.