"I, too, believe in Fate," she said softly, after a pause; and then, slipping her arm into his, "Father Ambrose, you have been summoned here for a purpose. Fulfil that purpose." CHAPTER TWENTY BERNHARDT DISTURBED While the woman whom he had helped to a throne was being secretly married to George Trafford, Father Bernhardt was sitting alone in his private apartments in the Neptunburg. The room he had chosen for his use was a small chamber on the second floor, overlooking the courtyard. The blinds were drawn, the electric light was burning, and the ex-priest was seated in a comfortable arm-chair reading the poems of Paul Verlaine. At his side were a wine-glass and a big _carafe_ containing a pale green viscous fluid. He seemed to be enjoying his relaxation, for a smile constantly flitted across his face, and as some mordant line appealed more especially to his grim humour he would repeat it several times out loud in manifest appreciation. From time to time he sipped the fluid at his elbow, and it was remarkable that each time he did so he cast a quick look behind him as if fully expecting to see someone. A rap at the door brought a slight frown to his brow, and the knock had to be repeated before he gave the necessary permission to enter. The intruder was Von Hügelweiler. "Well, what is it, Captain?" asked Bernhardt impatiently. Von Hügelweiler's glance took in the nature of the other man's diversion, and a suspicion of contempt showed itself in his curling lip. "I have news, sir," he said. "Out with it!" "Karl is alive!" "So Gottfried said. The Iron Maiden seems to have grown humane in her old age." Hügelweiler studied the man whose influence was then paramount in Weidenbruck, and his contempt grew. In common with others, he had been wont to fear Bernhardt. The burning eyes, the quick, imperious brain, the general air of reckless strength were things that impressed the well-born soldier, as they impressed the low-born mob. But Bernhardt sipping absinthe was a different person from the fire-brand of the revolution, and Hügelweiler realised that the lethargic sensualist of the arm-chair needed strong words to rouse him. "The Iron Maiden has not grown humane," he said, "but there is a traitor in our midst." Bernhardt sipped pensively. "How very interesting!" he said. "Very!" echoed Hügelweiler scornfully. "Before Karl was put into the _Eisenmädchen_ someone had removed the spikes. The pretended execution was nothing more nor less than a scheme to save the King's life." "A most ingenious scheme." Von Hügelweiler banged his fist on the table. "That is one piece of news!" he cried irritably. "It does not seem to move you very deeply; perhaps my second item will affect you more. The Queen has just gone through the ceremony of marriage with Trafford the American!" Again Bernhardt raised his glass. "I drink to the happy pair," he said blandly. Hügelweiler almost screamed with vexation.