Mr. Rassendyll made no answer, but, coming to me, took my arm. We went out, leaving Rischenheim by the body. I did not think of him; Bernenstein probably thought that he would keep his pledge given to the queen, for he followed us immediately and without demur. There was nobody outside the door. The house was very quiet, and the tumult from the street reached us only in a muffled roar. But when we came to the foot of the stairs we found the two women. Mother Holf stood on the threshold of the kitchen, looking amazed and terrified. Rosa was clinging to her; but as soon as Rudolf came in sight, the girl sprang forward and flung herself on her knees before him, pouring out incoherent thanks to Heaven for his safety. He bent down and spoke to her in a whisper; she looked up with a flush of pride on her face. He seemed to hesitate a moment; he glanced at his hands, but he wore no ring save that which the queen had given him long ago. Then he disengaged his chain and took his gold watch from his pocket. Turning it over, he showed me the monogram, R. R. “Rudolfus Rex,” he whispered with a whimsical smile, and pressed the watch into the girl’s hand, saying: “Keep this to remind you of me.” She laughed and sobbed as she caught it with one hand, while with the other she held his. “You must let go,” he said gently. “I have much to do.” I took her by the arm and induced her to rise. Rudolf, released, passed on to where the old woman stood. He spoke to her in a stern, distinct voice. “I don’t know,” he said, “how far you are a party to the plot that was hatched in your house. For the present I am content not to know, for it is no pleasure to me to detect disloyalty or to punish an old woman. But take care! The first word you speak, the first act you do against me, the king, will bring its certain and swift punishment. If you trouble me, I won’t spare you. In spite of traitors I am still king in Strelsau.” He paused, looking hard in her face. Her lip quivered and her eyes fell. “Yes,” he repeated, “I am king in Strelsau. Keep your hands out of mischief and your tongue quiet.” She made no answer. He passed on. I was following, but as I went by her the old woman clutched my arm. “In God’s name, who is he?” she whispered. “Are you mad?” I asked, lifting my brows. “Don’t you know the king when he speaks to you? And you’d best remember what he said. He has servants who’ll do his orders.” She let me go and fell back a step. Young Bernenstein smiled at her; he at least found more pleasure than anxiety in our position. Thus, then, we left them: the old woman terrified, amazed, doubtful; the girl with ruddy cheeks and shining eyes, clasping in her two hands the keepsake that the king himself had given her.