For half an hour the ambassador remained staring at the candlesticks.  By and by he resumed his chair.  What should he do?  Where should he begin?  Suppose the chancellor should look at the situation adversely, from the duke’s angle of vision, should the duke learn?  There was but one thing to do and that was to go boldly to Herbeck and lay the matter before him frankly.  Neither Jugendheit nor Ehrenstein wanted war.  The chancellor was wise; it would be better to dally with the truth than needlessly to sacrifice ten thousand lives.  But what had the lieutenant further to conceal?  The ambassador wanted no dinner.  He rang for his hat and coat, and twenty minutes later he was in the chancellor’s cabinet.

“You seem out of health, Baron,” was the chancellor’s greeting.

“I am indeed that, Count.  I received a letter to-day from the prince regent.  It was sent to him by his majesty, who is hunting in Bavaria.  Read it, Count, but I pray to you to do nothing hastily.”

The chancellor did not open the letter, he merely balanced it.  That so light a thing should be so heavy with dark portents!  His accustomed pallor assumed a grayish tinge.

“So his majesty declines?” he said evenly.

“You have already heard?” cried the amazed ambassador.

“Nothing; I surmise.  The hour, your appearance, the letter—­to what else could they point?  I was afraid all along.  Strange instinct we have at times.  The regent is to be pitied; he took too much for granted.  He has been used to power one day too long.  Ah, if his majesty could but see her, could only know how lovely she is in heart and mind and face!  Is she not worthy a crown?”

“Herbeck, nothing would please me better, nothing would afford my country greater pleasure and satisfaction, than to see this marriage consummated.  It would nail that baseless lie which has so long been current.”

“I believe you.  We two peoples should be friendly.  It has taken me months to bring this matter round.  The duke rebelled; her highness scorned the hand of Frederick.  One by one I had to overcome their objections—­to this end.  The past refuses to be buried.  Still, if you saw all the evidence in the case you would not blame the duke for his attitude.”

“But those documents are rank forgeries!”

“So they may be, but that has not been proved.”

“Why should his late majesty abduct the daughter of the grand duke?  For what benefits?  To what end?  Ah, Count, if some motive could be brought forward, some motive that could stand!”

“Motives, my friend?  They spring from the most unheard-of places.  And motives in action are always based on impulses.  But let us waste no time on retrospection.  It is the present which confronts us.  You do not want war.”

“No more do you.”

“What remedy do you suggest?”

“I ask, nay, I plead that question of you.”

“I represent the offended party.”  The chancellor’s gaunt features lighted with a transient smile.  “Proceed, Baron.”