"Yes, of course; but that was an hour ago, and more. I have been over to
Kierberg since then, in the rain."
He had left Monsieur Maurice an hour ago--a whole, wretched, dismal hour,
during which I might have been so happy!
"You told me to stay here till you came back," I said, scarce able to keep
down the tears that started to my eyes.
"Well, my little Maedchen?"
"And--and I might have gone up to Monsieur Maurice, after all?"
My father looked at me gravely--poured out a second glass of kirsch--drew
his chair to the front of the fire, and said:--
"I don't know about that, Gretchen."
I had felt all along that there was something wrong, and now I was certain
of it.
"What do you mean, father?" I said, my heart beating so that I could
scarcely speak. "What is the matter?"
"May the devil make broth of my bones, if I know!" said my father, tugging
savagely at his moustache.
"But there is something!"
He nodded, grimly.
"Monsieur Maurice, it seems, is not to have so much liberty," he said,
after a moment. "He is not to walk in the grounds oftener than twice a
week; and then only with a soldier at his heels. And he is not to go beyond
half a mile from the Chateau in any direction.
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