"No! no! no! Oh, Henry, no one could take your place. You are to me what his arms are to a soldier. You are the guardian of all my thoughts--my only friend and comrade in this solitude." The poor old servant tried to draw his distorted features into a smile. "I am--not sorry for--myself--Herr Count; only for you two. I have earned--a rest; I have--lost everything--and have long ago--ceased to hope for--anything. I feel that--this is--the end. No doctor can--help me. I know--I am--dying." He paused to breathe heavily for several moments, then added: "There is--something--I should--like to have--before--before I--go." "What is it, Henry?" "I know you--will be--angry--Herr Count, but--I cannot--cannot die without--consolation." "Consolation?" echoed Ludwig. "Yes--the last consolation--for the--dying. I have not--confessed for--sixteen years; and the--multitude of my--sins--oppresses me. Pray--pray, Herr Count, send for--a priest." "Impossible, Henry. Impossible!" "I beseech you--in the name of God--let me see a priest. Have mercy--on your poor old servant, Herr Count. My soul feels--the torments of hell; I see the everlasting flames--and the sneering devils--" "Henry, Henry," impatiently remonstrated his master, "don't be childish. You are only tormenting yourself with fancies. Does the soldier who falls in battle have time to confess his sins? Who grants him absolution?" "Perhaps--were I in--the midst of the turmoil of battle--I should not feel this agony of mind. But here--there is so much time to think. Every sin that I have committed--rises before me like--like a troop of soldiers that--have been mustered for roll-call." "Pray cease these idle fancies, Henry. Of what are you thinking? You want to tell a priest that you are living here under a false name--tell him that I, too, am an impostor? You would say to him: 'When the revolutionists imprisoned my royal master and his family, to behead them afterward, I clothed my own daughter in the garments belonging to my master's daughter, in order to save the royal child from death, I gave up my own child to danger, and carried my master's child to a place of safety. My own child I gave up to play the rôle of king's daughter, when kings and their offspring were hunted down like wild beasts; and made of the king's daughter a servant, that she might be allowed to go free. I counterfeited certificates of baptism, registers, passports, in order to save the king's daughter from her enemies. I bore false witness--committed perjury in order to hide her from her persecutors--'" "Yes--yes," moaned the dying man, "all that have I done." "And do you imagine that you will be allowed to breathe such a confession into a human ear?" sternly responded the count. "I must--I must--to make my peace with God."