“Your Highness cannot think that words are necessary?” The bulging eyes grew narrow, the heavy nether lip was thrust forth in scorn and menace. “You are relieved, sir, of your duties in the Electoral Guard, and as that is the only tie binding you to Hanover, we see no reason why your sojourn here should be protracted.” Königsmark bowed stiffly, formally. “It shall end, your Highness, as soon as I can make the necessary arrangements for my departure—in a week at most.” “You are accorded three days, sir.” The Elector turned, and waddled out, leaving Königsmark to breathe freely again. The three days should suffice for the Princess also. It was very well. The Elector, too, thought that it was very well. He had given this troublesome fellow his dismissal, averted a scandal, and placed his daughter-in-law out of the reach of harm. Madame von Platen was the only one concerned who thought that it was not well at all, the consummation being far from that which she had desired. She had dreamt of a flaming scandal, that should utterly consume her two enemies, Sophia and Königsmark. Instead, she saw them both escaping, and the fact that she was—as she may have supposed—effectively separating two loving hearts could be no sort of adequate satisfaction for such bitter spite as hers. Therefore she plied her wicked wits to force an issue more germane to her desires. The course she took was fraught with a certain peril. Yet confident that at worst she could justify it, and little fearing that the worst would happen, she boldly went to work. She forged next day a brief note in which the Princess Sophia urgently bade Königsmark to come to her at ten o’clock that night in her own apartments, and with threat and bribe induced the waiting woman of the glove to bear that letter. Now it so happened that Königsmark, through the kind offices of Sophia’s maid-of-honour, Mademoiselle de Knesebeck, who was in the secret of their intentions, had sent the Princess a note that morning, briefly stating the urgency of departure, and begging her so to arrange that she could leave Herrenhausen with him on the morrow. He imagined the note now brought him to be in answer to that appeal of his. Its genuineness he never doubted, being unacquainted with Sophia’s writing. He was aghast at the rashness which dictated such an assignation, yet never hesitated as to keeping it. It was not his way to hesitate. He trusted to the gods who watch over the destinies of the bold. And meanwhile Madame von Platen was reproaching her lover with having dealt too softly with the Dane. “Bah!” said the Elector. “To-morrow he goes his ways, and we are rid of him. Is not that enough?” “Enough, if, soon as he goes, he goes not too late already,” quoth she. “Now what will you be hinting?” he asked her peevishly.