“Stand here till we return. Allow no one to pass who does not give you this word,” and again he whispered the word “Elsa” in the man’s ear. To the dismay of Wilhelm, the Emperor addressed the guard: “Are there many prisoners within?” “There are two only,” replied the man, “numbers 13 and 14. I helped to carry No. 14 down the stair, and am glad his sword broke beneath him as he fell, for, indeed, we had trouble enough with him as it was.” Here Wilhelm took the liberty of touching the Emperor on the arm as if to warn him that such discourse was untimely and dangerous. With beating heart the young man led the way up the stairs, and at the top of the second flight, came into what seemed to be the vestibule of a house, in which, on benches round the wall, there sat four men seemingly on guard, who immediately sprang to their feet when they saw the ghostly apparitions before them. “Unbar the door,” said Wilhelm, quietly, in the tone of one whose authority is not to be disputed. “Close it after us and allow none to enter or emerge who does not give you the word ‘Elsa.’” This command was so promptly obeyed that Wilhelm could scarcely believe they had won so easily to the outer air. The house stood alone on the bank of the river at the end of a long garden which extended to the road. Facing the thoroughfare and partly concealing the house from any chance straggler was a low building which Wilhelm remembered was used as a wayside drinking-place, in which wine, mostly of a poor quality, was served to thirsty travellers. The gate to the street appeared deserted, but as the two approached by the walk leading from the house, a guard stood out from the shadow of the wall, scrutinised for a moment their appearance, then saluting, held the gate open for them. Once on the road, the two turned towards the city, whose black wall barred their way some distance ahead, and whose towers and spires stood out dimly against the starlit sky. A great silence, broken only by the soothing murmur of the river, lay on the landscape. Wilhelm cast a glance aloft at the star-sprinkled dome of heaven, and said: “I judge it to be about an hour after midnight.” “It may be so,” answered the Emperor, “I have lost all count of time. “Has your Majesty been long in prison?” “That I do not know. I may have lain there two days or a dozen. I had no means of measuring the length of my imprisonment.” “May I ask your Majesty in what manner you were lured into the halls of the Fehmgerichte?” “It was no lure. While I lay asleep at night in the cloisters by the Cathedral I was bound and gagged, carried through the dark streets helpless on a litter and finally flung into the cell in which you found me.” “May I further inquire what your Majesty’s intentions are regarding the fulfilment of the duties imposed upon you by your high office?” There was a long pause before the Emperor replied, then he said: “Why do you ask?”