And he is to hold no
communication whatever with any person, or persons, either in-doors or
out-of-doors, except such as are in direct charge of his rooms or his
person. And--and heaven knows what other confounded regulations besides! I
wish the Baron von Bulow had been in Spitzbergen before he put it into the
King's head to send him here at all!"
"But--but he is not to be locked up?" I faltered, almost in a whisper.
"Well, no--not exactly that; but I am to post a sentry in the corridor,
outside his door."
"Then the King is afraid that Monsieur Maurice will run away!"
"I don't know--I suppose so," groaned my father.
I sat silent for a moment, and then burst into a flood of tears.
"Poor Monsieur Maurice!" I cried. "He has coughed so all the Winter; and he
was longing for the Spring! We were to have gathered primroses in the woods
when the warm days came back again--and--and--and I suppose the King
doesn't mean that I am not to speak to him any more!"
My sobs choked me, and I could say no more.
My father took me on his knee, and tried to comfort me.
"Don't cry, my little Gretchen," he said tenderly; "don't cry! Tears can
help neither the prisoner nor thee."
"But I may go to him all the same, father?" I pleaded.
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