For response, the director drew two large folded documents from his pocket, approaching the general. “Do you recognize this seal?” he asked. “Yes,” solemnly answered the general; “it is the royal seal from the king’s private cabinet.” “Read the address upon this, and the unopened letter.” “Truly, the latter is directed to my daughter, and the other to Professor Gedicke.” Herr Gedicke opened the letter, asking the general if he could recognize the king’s handwriting. “Yes,” he answered, “I know it well.” “Have the goodness to read the lines upon the margin,” mid the professor, unfolding the letter, so that he could only read those referred to. The general read: “Professor Gedicke shall go himself to Fraulein von Leuthen, and bring her to reason, reading the document to her without witnesses. I wish this affair to come to an end. Teach Mamselle mores! mores! mores! FREDERICK.” “You have heard the royal command, ladies and gentlemen; will you respect it?” said the professor, turning around with an air of proud satisfaction. “My dear son-in-law,” said the general, solemnly, “it is a royal command; give me your arm, as you know I am feeble; and you, my wife, take my other arm, and we will go into the next room. Hush! not a word--we have only to obey, and not reason.” He seized his wife’s hand hastily and firmly, that she should not slip away, and winked to Ebenstreit, upon whose support he crossed the room, drawing his wife with him, and pushing open the door of the next with his foot. Marie had stood during the whole transaction pale and rigid in the centre of the room, looking haughty and defiant as long as her parents and Herr Ebenstreit were present. Now, as the door closed, life and action were visible in this marble form; she rushed to the old gentleman, scarce respiring, and looking up at his dignified, sad face, asked: “Is he living? Tell me only this, or is he ill?” “Yes, he lives, he does not suffer from bodily ills, but the sickness of the soul.” “And do not I also?” asked she, with quivering voice. “Oh! I know what he suffers, as we are wretched from the same cause. But tell me, have you seen him?” “Yes, Fraulein, I have.” “Where is he? Where did you see him?” “In prison!” Marie grew paler, and retreated, shuddering. The director continued: “In a dark, damp prison at Spandau. The poor fellow has been there for two months without air, light, or occupation, and his only society is his own revengeful thoughts and angry love-complaints.” Marie gave one hollow moan, covering her corpse-like face with her hands. “In this abode of torture, in this dwelling of the damned, he must remain ten long years, if death does not release him?” “What did you say?” she groaned. “Ten long years? Have they condemned him?”