There being, as I have said, no especial room set apart for business
purposes, the orderly was shown straight to our own room, and there
delivered his despatch. It was about a quarter past one. We had dined, and
my father had just brought out his pipe. The door leading into our little
dining-room was, indeed, standing wide open, and the dishes were still
upon the table.
My father took the despatch, turned it over, broke the seals one by one
(there were five of them, as before), and read it slowly through. As he
read, a dark cloud seemed to settle on his brow.
Then he looked up frowning--seemed about to speak--checked himself--and
read the despatch over again.
"From whose hands did you receive this?" he said abruptly.
"From General Berndorf, Excellency," stammered the orderly, carrying his
hand to his cap.
"Is his Excellency the Baron von Bulow at Cologne?"
"I have not heard so, Excellency."
"Then this despatch came direct from Berlin, and has been forwarded from
Cologne?"
"Yes, Excellency."
"How did it come from Berlin? By mail, or by special messenger?"
"By special messenger, Excellency."
Now General Berndorf was the officer in command of the garrison at Cologne,
and the Baron von Bulow, as I well knew, was His Majesty's Minister of War
at Berlin.
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