"I want you to go with me to the central door of the 'Printemps' at four o'clock this afternoon, and we will watch Lancry's shop across the way," the Baron replied.
This we did, and from four till six o'clock we stood, amid the bustle of foot passengers, watching the small stationer's on the opposite side of the boulevard, yet without result.
Next day and the next I accompanied the prosperous cinema proprietor upon his daily vigil, but in vain, until his reluctance to tell me the reason why I had been sent to Paris annoyed me considerably.
On the fifth afternoon, just before five o'clock, while we were strolling together, smoking and chatting, the Baron's eyes being fixed upon the door of the small single-fronted shop, I saw him suddenly start, and then make pretence of utter indifference.
"Look!" he whispered beneath his breath.
I glanced across and saw a young man just about to enter the shop.
The figure was unfamiliar, but, catching sight of his face, I held my breath. I had seen that sallow, deep-eyed countenance before.
It was the young man who, two months previously, had sat eating his luncheon alone at the "Esplanade," apparently fascinated by the beauty of little Elise Breitenbach!
"Well," exclaimed the Baron. "I see you recognize him – eh? He is probably going to buy more paper for his scurrilous screeds."
"Yes. But who is he? What is his name?" I asked anxiously. "I have seen him before, but have no exact knowledge of him."
The Baron did not reply until we were back again in the cosy room in Neuilly. Then, opening his cigar-box, he said:
"That young man, the author of the outrageous insults to His Majesty, is known as Franz Seeliger, but he is the disgraced, ne'er-do-well son of General von Trautmann, Captain-General of the Palace Guard."
"The son of old Von Trautmann!" I gasped in utter amazement. "Does the father know?"
The Baron grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
Then after I had related to him the incident at the "Esplanade," he said:
"That is of greatest interest. Will you return to Berlin and report to the Emperor what you have seen here? His Majesty has given me that instruction."
Much mystified, I was also highly excited that the actual writer of those abominable letters had been traced and identified. The Baron told me of the long weeks of patient inquiry and careful watching; of how the young fellow had been followed to Angers and other towns in France where the letters were posted, and of his frequent visits to Berlin. He had entered a crack regiment, but had been dismissed the Army for forgery and undergone two years' imprisonment. Afterwards he had fallen in with a gang of clever international hotel thieves, and become what is known as a rat d'hôtel. Now, because of a personal grievance against the Emperor, who had ordered his prosecution, he seemed to have by some secret means ferreted out every bit of scandal at Potsdam, exaggerated it, invented amazing additions, and in secret sown it broadcast.
His hand would have left no trace if he had not been so indiscreet as to buy his paper from that one shop close to the Rue de Provence, where he had rooms.
On the third night following I stood in the Emperor's private room at Potsdam and made my report, explaining all that I knew and what I had witnessed in Paris.
"That man knows a very great deal – but how does he know?" snapped the Emperor, who had just returned from Berlin, and was in civilian attire, a garb quite unusual to him. He had no doubt been somewhere incognito – visiting a friend perhaps. "See Schunke early to-morrow," he ordered, "and tell him to discover the link between this young blackguard and your friends the Breitenbachs, and report to me."
I was about to protest that the Breitenbachs were not my friends, but next instant drew my breath, for I saw that the great War-Lord, even though he wore a blue serge suit, was filled with suppressed anger.
"This mystery must be cleared up!" he declared in a hard voice, reflecting no doubt upon the terrible abuse which the writer had heaped upon him, all the allegations, by-the-way, having contained a certain substratum of truth.
Next morning I sat with the bald-headed and astute Schunke at the headquarters of the detective police in Berlin, and there discussed the affair fully, explaining the result of my journey to Paris and what I had seen, and giving him the order from the Kaiser.
"But, Count, if this woman Breitenbach and her pretty daughter are your friends you will be able to visit them and glean something," he said.
"I have distinct orders from the Emperor not to visit them while the inquiry is in process," I replied.
Schunke grunted in dissatisfaction, stroked his iron-grey beard, but made no further comment.
We walked out together, and I left him at the door of the Etat-major of the Army in the Königsplatz.
Later that same morning I returned to the Marmor Palace to report to the Crown-Prince, but found that His Highness was absent upon an official visit of inspection at Stuttgart. The Marshal of the Court, Tresternitz, having given me the information, laughed, and added:
"Officially, according to to-day's newspapers, His Highness is in Stuttgart, but unofficially I know that he is at the Palace Hotel, in Brussels, where there is a short-skirted variety attraction singing at the Eden Theatre. So, my dear Heltzendorff, you can return to the Krausenstrasse for a day or two."
I went back to Berlin, the Crown-Princess being away at Wiesbaden, and from day to day awaited "Willie's" return.
In the meantime I several times saw the great detective, Schunke, and found that he was in constant communication with Baron Steinmetz in Paris. The pair were evidently leaving no stone unturned to elucidate the mystery of those annoying letters, which were still falling as so many bombs into the centre of the Kaiser's Court.
Suddenly, one Sunday night, all Berlin was electrified at the news that General von Trautmann, Captain-General of the Palace Guard – whom, truth to tell, the Crown-Prince had long secretly hated because he had once dared to utter some word of reproach – had been arrested, and sent to a fortress at the Emperor's order.
An hour after the arrest His Majesty's personal-adjutant commanded me by telephone to attend at the Berlin Schloss. When we were alone the Kaiser turned to me suddenly, and said:
"Count von Heltzendorff, you will say nothing of your recent visit to Paris, or of the authorship of those anonymous letters – you understand? You know absolutely nothing."
Then, being summarily dismissed by a wave of the Imperial hand, I retired, more mystified than ever. Why should my mouth be thus closed? I dared not call at the Alsenstrasse to make my own inquiries, yet I knew that the police had made theirs.
When I returned to my rooms that evening Schunke rang me up on the telephone with the news that my friends the Breitenbachs had closed their house and left early that morning for Brussels.
"Where is Seeliger?" I inquired in great surprise.
"In Brussels. The Breitenbachs have gone there to join him, now that the truth is out and his father is under arrest."
The Emperor's fury was that of a lunatic. It knew no bounds. His mind, poisoned against the poor old General, he had fixed upon him as the person responsible for that disgraceful correspondence which for so many weeks had kept the Court in constant turmoil and anxiety. Though His Majesty was aware of the actual writer of the letters, he would not listen to reason, and openly declared that he would make an example of the silver-haired old Captain-General of the Guard, who, after all, was perfectly innocent of the deeds committed by his vagabond son.
A prosecution was ordered, and three weeks later it took place in camera, the Baron, Schunke and a number of detectives being ordered to give evidence. So damning, indeed, was their testimony that the Judge passed the extreme sentence of twenty years' imprisonment.
And I, who knew and held proofs of the truth, dared not protest!
Where was the General's son – the real culprit and author of the letters? I made inquiry of Schunke, of the Baron, and of others who had, at the order of the All-Highest, conspired to ruin poor Von Trautmann. All, however, declared ignorance, and yet, curiously enough, the fine house in the Alsenstrasse still remained empty.
Later, I discovered that the Crown-Prince had been the prime mover in the vile conspiracy to send the elderly Captain-General to prison and to the grave, for of this his words to me one day – a year afterwards – were sufficient proof:
"It is a good job, Heltzendorff, that the Emperor rid himself at last of that canting old pest, Von Trautmann. He is now in a living tomb, and should have been there four years ago!" and he laughed.
I made no response. Instead, I thought of the quiet, innocent old courtier languishing in prison because he had somehow incurred the ill-will of the Emperor's son, and I confess that I ground my teeth at my own inability to expose the disgraceful truth.
About six months after the secret trial of the unfortunate General I had accompanied the Crown-Prince on a visit to the Quirinal, and one afternoon while strolling along the Corso, in Rome, suddenly came face to face with the dainty little figure of Fräulein Elise Breitenbach.
In delight I took her into Ronzi's, the noted confectioner's at the corner of the Piazza Colonna, and there, at one of the little tables, she explained to me how she and her mother, having become acquainted with Franz Seeliger – not knowing him to be the General's son – they suddenly fell under the suspicion of the Berlin Secret Police, and, though much puzzled, did not again come to Court.
Some weeks later mother and daughter chanced to be in Paris, and one day called at Seeliger's rooms in the Rue de Provence, but he was out. They, however, were shown into his room to wait, and there saw upon his table an abusive and scurrilous typewritten letter in German addressed to the Emperor. Then it suddenly dawned upon them that the affable young man might be the actual author of those infamous letters. It was this visit which, no doubt, revealed to the Baron the young man's hiding-place. Both mother and daughter, however, kept their own counsel, met Seeliger next day, and watched, subsequently learning, to their surprise, that he was the son of General von Trautmann, and, further, that he had as a friend one of the personal valets of the Emperor, from whom, no doubt, he obtained his inside information about persons at Court.
"When his poor father was sentenced we knew that the young man was living in Brussels, and at once went there in order to induce him to come forward, make confession, and so save the General from disgrace," said the pretty girl seated before me. "On arrival we saw him alone, and told him what we had discovered in the Rue de Provence, whereupon he admitted to us that he had written all the letters, and announced that he intended to return to Berlin next day and give himself up to the police in order to secure his father's release."
"And why did he not do so?" I asked eagerly.
"Because next morning he was found dead in his bed in the hotel."
"Ah, suicide."
"No," was her half-whispered reply. "He had been strangled by an unknown hand – deliberately murdered, as the Brussels police declared. They were, of course, much mystified, for they did not know, as we know, that neither the young man's presence nor his confession were desired in Berlin."
Fearing the Emperor's wrath, the Breitenbachs, like myself, dare not reveal what they knew – the truth, which is here set down for the first time – and, alas! poor General von Trautmann died in prison at Mulheim last year.
SECRET NUMBER THREE
HOW THE KAISER PERSECUTED A PRINCESS
The truth of the dastardly plot which caused the downfall of the unfortunate and much-maligned Imperial Princess Luisa Antoinette Marie, Archduchess of Austria, and wife of Friedrich-August, now the reigning King of Saxony, has never yet been revealed.
I know, my dear Le Queux, that you had a good deal to do with the "skittish Princess," as she was called, and her affairs after she had left the Court of Saxony and went to live near you in the Via Benedetto da Foiano, in Florence. You were her friend, and you were afterwards present at her secret marriage in London. Therefore, what I here reveal concerning a disgraceful conspiracy by which a clever, accomplished, and generous Princess of the blood Royal was hounded out of Germany will, I think, be of peculiar interest to yourself and to those readers for whom you are setting down my reminiscences.
As you know, before being appointed to my recent position in the Crown-Prince "Willie's" household, I was personal-adjutant to His Majesty the Emperor, and in that capacity accompanied Der Einzige (the One) on his constant travels. Always hungry for popular applause, the Emperor was ever on the move with that morbid restlessness of which he is possessed, and which drove him from city to city, hunting, yachting, unveiling statues, opening public buildings, paying ceremonial visits, or, when all excuses for travel became exhausted, he presented new colours to some regiment in some far-off garrison.
Indeed, within that one year, 1902, I accompanied "William-the-Sudden" and his host of adjutants, military and civil secretaries, valets, chasseurs and flunkeys, to twenty-eight different cities in Germany and Scandinavia, where he stopped and held Court. Some cities we visited several times, being unwelcome always because of the endless trouble, anxiety and expense caused to the municipal authorities and military casinos.
I, of course, knew the charming Imperial Highness the Crown-Princess Luisa of Saxony, as she often came on visits to the Kaiserin, but I had never spoken much with her until at Easter the Emperor went to visit Dresden. He took with him, among other people, one of his untitled boon companions, Judicial Councillor Löhlein, a stout, flabby-faced hanger-on, who at the time possessed great influence over him. Indeed, he was really the Emperor's financial agent. This man had, some time ago, very fortunately for the Emperor, opened his eyes to the way in which Kunze had manipulated the amazing Schloss Freiheit Lottery, and had been able to point out to the All-Highest One what a storm of ridicule, indignation and defiance must arise in Berlin if he attempted to carry out his huge reconstruction and building scheme.
I was present in the Emperor's room at Potsdam when old Löhlein, with whom sat Herr von Wedell, openly declared to the Emperor that if he prosecuted his pet building scheme great indignation must arise, not only in the capital, but in Hanover, Wiesbaden, and Kassel.
The Kaiser knitted his brows and listened attentively to both of his advisers. I well remember how, next day, the Press, in order to allay the public dissatisfaction, declared that the huge building projects of the Emperor never existed. They had been purely imaginary ideas put forward by a syndicate of speculative builders and taken up by the newspapers.
Without doubt the podgy, fair-haired man in gold-rimmed spectacles, the Judicial Councillor Löhlein, by crushing the Kaiser's mad scheme gained considerable popularity in a certain circle. He was, however, a man of exceptional craft and cunning, and during the eight years or so he remained the intimate friend of the Emperor he must have, by advising and looking after the Imperial investments, especially in America, amassed a great fortune.
On the occasion of our Easter visit to the Saxon Court – a Court which, to say the least, was a most dull and uninteresting one – we all went, as is the custom there, to the shoot at the Vogelschiessen, a large wooden bird made up of pieces which fall out when hit in a vital part. The bird target is set up at the Easter fair held close to Dresden, and on that afternoon the whole Court annually go to try their skill at marksmanship. We were a merry party. The Emperor went with the old King and Queen of Saxony, being accompanied by the Crown-Prince Friedrich-August and the Crown-Princess Luisa, merry, laughing, full of spirits, and unusually good-looking for a Royalty.
The Saxon Royal Family all shot, and, thanks to her father's tuition, the Crown-Princess knocked a piece out of the bird at the first shot, which sent the public wild with enthusiasm.
Luisa was the most popular woman in Saxony, and deservedly so, for hers had been a love match. Her father, Ferdinand IV., Grand Duke of Tuscany, had, at the suggestion of the Emperor Francis Joseph, endeavoured to arrange a match between the Princess and the man now known as "foxy" Ferdinand of Bulgaria. With that object a grand dîner de cérémonie was held one night at the Imperial Castle of Salzburg, and at that dinner Luisa, suspecting the conspiracy, publicly insulted the Ruler of Bulgaria, which for ever put an end to the paternal plans.
After her marriage to the Saxon Crown-Prince the Kaiser, in one of his whimsical moods, became greatly attached to her because of her frankness, her love of outdoor life, and her high educational attainments, hence we often had her visiting at Potsdam or at the Berlin Schloss. She was known to be one of the few feminine Royalties in whom the Kaiser took the slightest interest.
After our return from the public shooting to the Royal Palace in Dresden, a banquet was, of course, held in honour of the Emperor in that great hall where, on the walls, the four estates are represented by scenes from the history of the Emperor Henry I.
At the grand ball afterwards I found myself chatting with Luisa, who, I recollect, wore a most charming and artistic gown of sea-green chiffon, décolleté, of course, with pink carnations in her hair and a few diamonds upon her corsage, as well as the Order of St. Elizabeth and her magnificent rope of matched pearls, which went twice round her neck and reached to her knees – a historic set which had once belonged to Marie Antoinette. She looked very charming, and, in her frank way, asked me:
"How do you like my dress, Count? I designed it myself," she added.
I complimented her upon it, but I afterwards heard that the old King of Saxony had been horrified at the lowness to which the bodice had been cut, and, further, that every yard of green chiffon in Dresden had been sold out before noon next day and the dress copied everywhere.
As we stood chatting in a corner of the room, watching the scene of unusual brilliancy because of the Kaiser's presence, the Princess, turning to me, said suddenly:
"Do you believe in omens, Count von Heltzendorff?"
"Omens!" I exclaimed, rather surprised at her question. "Really, I'm afraid I am a little too matter-of-fact to take such things seriously, your Highness."
"Well, a curious thing happened here about a month ago," she said. "I was – " At that instant the Emperor, in the uniform of the 2nd Regiment of Saxon Grenadiers, of which he was chief, and wearing the Order of Crancelin of the House of Saxony, strode up, and, standing before us exclaimed:
"Well, Luisa? What is the very interesting topic of conversation, eh?" He had evidently overheard her words about some curious thing happening, for, laughing gaily, he asked; "Now, what did happen a month ago?"
Her Imperial Highness hesitated, as though endeavouring to avoid an explanation, but next second she waved her lace fan quickly and said:
"Well, something remarkable. I will tell your Majesty if you really wish to hear it."
"By all means, Luisa, by all means," replied His Majesty, placing his sound hand behind his back and drawing himself up very erect – a habit of his after asking a question.
"Well, recently Friedrich-August and myself have moved into rooms in the older wing of the Palace – rooms that have not been occupied for nearly forty years. They are old-world, charming, and remind me constantly of Augustus the Strong and the times in which he lived. Just about a month ago the King and Queen of Roumania were paying us a visit. We were at dinner, and while we were all laughing and talking, for 'Carmen Sylva' had been telling us one of her stories, we heard a great clatter of horses' hoofs and the heavy rumble of wheels, just as though a stage coach was crossing the Small Courtyard. All of us listened, and in the silence we heard it receding quite distinctly. I at once sent my lady-in-waiting to ascertain who had arrived or departed, four-wheeled coaches being quite unusual nowadays. It seemed just as though the coach had driven out of the Palace gate. The message brought back from the guardroom was that no carriage had entered or left. I told this to those around the table, and the Queen of Roumania, who had taken much interest in omens and folk-lore, seated opposite me, seemed much impressed, and even perturbed."
"Then the noise you heard must have been quite an uncanny one, eh?" asked the Emperor, deeply interested.
"Quite. Two of the women at the table declared that it must have been thunder, and then the conversation proceeded. I, however, confess to your Majesty that I was very much puzzled, and the more so because only two nights ago, while we sat at dinner Friedrich-August and myself en famille, we heard exactly the same sounds again!"
"Really!" laughed the Emperor. "Quite uncanny. I hope, here in Dresden, you are not believing in spooks, as London society believes in them."
"Not at all," said the Princess earnestly. "I don't believe in omens. But, curiously enough, the King told me yesterday that his two old aunts, who formerly lived in our wing of the Palace, had sometimes heard the clatter of horses' hoofs, the jingle of harness, the grinding of the brakes, and the rumbling of heavy carriage wheels."
"H'm!" grunted the Emperor. "I've heard that same story before, Luisa. The departing coach means trouble to the reigning family."
"That is exactly what the King said to me only last evening," answered Luisa frankly. "Does it mean trouble to me, I wonder?"
"Certainly not," I declared. "Your Imperial Highness need not worry for one moment over such things. Nobody nowadays regards such phenomena as presage of evil. There is no doubt some perfectly natural explanation of the sounds. Every old palace, castle, and even private house, has its traditions."
"Quite right, Heltzendorff," laughed the Emperor, "especially in England and Scotland. There they have white ladies, grey ladies, men with heads like stags, lights in windows, the sound of mysterious bells ringing, and all sorts of evil omens. Oh, those dear, superstitious English! How ready they are to take up anything unpractical that may be a pleasant change to the senses."
"Your Majesty does not believe in omens?" I ventured to remark.
"Omens!" he exclaimed, fixing his gaze upon me. "No; none but cowards and old women believe in them." Then, turning to the Princess, he smiled, saying: "If I were you, Luisa, I would give your chief of police orders to question all the servants. Somebody rattled some dishes, perhaps. You say it was during dinner."
But the pretty Crown-Princess was serious, for she said:
"Well, all I can say is that not only did I myself hear, but a dozen others at table also heard the noise of horses, not dishes."
"Ah, Luisa! I see you are a trifle nervous," laughed the Emperor. "Well, as you know, your Royal House of Saxony has lasted from the days of Albert the Courageous in the early fifteenth century, and the Dynasty of the Ravensteins has been prosperous from then until to-day, so don't trouble yourself further. Why, you are really quite pale and unnerved, I see," His Majesty added, for nothing escapes those shrewd, wide-open eyes of his.
Then the Emperor, after acknowledging the salute of Baron Georg von Metzsch, Controller of the Royal Household – a tall, thin, crafty-eyed man, with hair tinged with grey, and wearing a dark blue uniform and many decorations – changed the topic of conversation, and referred to the Saxon Easter custom which that morning had been carried out.
The Kaiser was in particularly merry mood that night. He had gone to Dresden against his inclination, for he had long ago arranged an Easter review on the Tempelhofer Feld, but the visit was, I knew, for the purpose of a consultation in secret with the King of Saxony. A week before, in the Berlin Schloss, I had been sent by the Emperor to obtain a paper from his table in the upstairs study, and in looking for the document in question – one that he had signed and wished to send over to the Reichsamt des Innern (Office of the Interior) – I came across a letter from King George of Saxony, begging the Emperor to visit him, in order to discuss "that matter which is so seriously threatening the honour of our House."
Several times I wondered to what His Majesty of Saxony had referred. That morning Emperor and King had been closeted alone together for fully three hours, and the outcome of the secret conference seemed to have put the All-Highest into a most excellent mood.
He left us, accompanied by Baron von Metzsch and Judicial Councillor Löhlein, and I noticed how both men were talking with the Emperor in an undertone. To my surprise also I saw how Löhlein cast furtive glances towards where I still stood with the Crown-Princess.
A few moments later, however, a smart officer of the Prussian Guard, whom I recognized as Count von Castell Rudenhausen, a well-known figure in the gay life of Berlin, came forward, and, bowing, invited the Princess to waltz.
And a moment later Luisa was smiling at me across the shoulder of her good-looking cavalier.
Suddenly, while waltzing, her magnificent rope of historic matched pearls accidentally caught in the button of a passing officer, the string snapped, and many of the pearls fell rattling upon the polished floor.
In a moment a dozen officers in tight uniforms were groping about to recover them from the feet of the dancers when, during the commotion, I heard the voice of Judicial Councillor Löhlein remark quite loudly:
"Ah! now we can all see who are the Crown-Princess' admirers!"
Luisa flushed instantly in anger and annoyance, but said nothing, whilst her lady-in-waiting in silence took the broken rope of pearls, together with those recovered from the floor, and a few moments later the significant incident ended.
The Saxon Crown-Prince and his wife were at that time a most devoted couple, though all of us knew that the modern ideas Luisa had brought to Dresden from the Hapsburg Court had much shocked old King George and his consort. The Saxon Court was unused to a pretty woman with buoyant spirits rejoicing in life with a capital "L." According to the Court whisperings, trouble had started a few days after marriage, when the King, having given his daughter-in-law a tiara of diamonds, a Royal heirloom, with strict injunctions to wear them just as they were – a style of the seventeenth century – he one evening at the opera saw her wearing the stones re-set in that style known as art nouveau. The King became furious, and ordered them to be set again in their original settings, whereupon Luisa coolly returned the present.
Such was the commencement of the old King's ill-feeling towards her.
The State ball that night was certainly a brilliant one for such a small Court, and next day we all returned to Potsdam, for the Emperor had suddenly cancelled a number of engagements and arranged to pay a visit to Wilhelmshaven, where the Kaiserliche Werft (Imperial Dockyard) contained certain naval secrets he wished to see.
Before we left Dresden, however, I met the Crown-Princess in one of the corridors. It was nine o'clock in the morning. She wore her riding-habit, for, being a splendid horsewoman, she had just come in from her morning canter.
"Well, Count!" she laughed. "So you are leaving us unexpectedly! I shall be coming to pay another visit to Potsdam soon. The Emperor invited me last night. Au revoir!" And after I had bent over her small white hand she waved it merrily and passed the sentry towards her private apartments, wherein she had heard the ghostly coach and four.
Her Imperial Highness paid her promised visit to the Empress at the Neues Palais in July.
At the time of her arrival the Emperor had left suddenly and gone away to Hubertusstock. When anything unusual upset him he always went there. I overheard him the day before his departure shouting to Löhlein as I passed along one of the corridors. The Judicial Councillor seemed to be trying to pacify him, but apparently entirely without avail, for the Emperor is a man not easily convinced.
"You are as sly as all the rest!" I heard the Emperor declare in that shrill, high-pitched tone which always denotes his anger. "I'll hear none of it – no excuses. I want no fawning, no Jew-juggling."
Then, fearing to be discovered, I slipped on past the door.
The next I heard was that the Kaiser had left for that lonely retreat to which he went when he wished to be alone in those periods of crazy impetuosity which periodically seized the Mad Dog of Europe; and, further, that he had taken with him his crafty crony, Löhlein.
During that mysterious absence – when the tinselled world of Potsdam seemed at peace – the good-looking Saxon Crown-Princess arrived.
I was on duty on the railway platform to bow over her hand and to welcome her.
"Ah! Count von Heltzendorff! Well, did I not say that I should not be very long before I returned to Potsdam, eh?" she exclaimed. Then, in a whisper, she said with a merry laugh: "Do you remember those clattering hoofs and my broken rope of pearls? Nothing has happened yet."
"And nothing will," I assured her as, with a courtier's obeisance, I conducted Her Imperial Highness to the Royal carriage, where the Crown-Prince "Willie" was awaiting her, chatting with two officers of the Guard to while away the time.
Three days later an incident occurred which caused me a good deal of thought, and, truth to tell, mystified me considerably.
That somewhat indiscreet journal, the Militär Wochenblatt, had published a statement to the effect that Friedrich-August of Saxony and the handsome Luisa had had a violent quarrel, a fact which caused a great deal of gossip throughout Court circles.