His Majesty Frederick William the Third of Prussia was, like most of the
princes of his house, tanned, soldierly, and fresh-complexioned; but florid
as he was, there came a darker flush into his face as he read what Monsieur
Maurice had written.
"An attempt upon his life!" he exclaimed. "The thing is not possible."
My father was silent. The king looked at him keenly.
"_Is_ it possible, Colonel Bernhard?" he said.
"I think it may be possible, your Majesty," replied my father in a low
voice.
The King frowned.
"Colonel Bernhard," he said, "how can that be? You are responsible for the
safety as well as the person of any prisoner committed to your charge."
"So long as the prisoner is left wholly to my charge I can answer for his
safety with my head, so please your Majesty," said my father, reddening;
"but not when he is provided with a special attendant over whom I have no
control."
"What special attendant? Where did he come from? Who sent him?"
"I believe he came from Berlin, your Majesty. He was sent by your Majesty's
Minister of War. His name is Hartmann."
The King stood thinking. His officers had fallen out of earshot, and were
talking together in a little knot some four yards behind.
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