shook hands. Then that soft yet bright look came in his eyes again. He looked down at me, and caught me regarding him with a smile that I know was not unkind.
"I never thought I should see her again," he said. "I think I shall now, Fritz. To have a turn with that boy, and to see her again—it's worth something."
"How will you see her?"
Rudolf laughed, and I laughed too. He caught my hand again. I think that he was anxious to infect me with his gaiety and confidence. But I could not answer to the appeal of his eyes. There was a motive in him that found no place in me—a great longing, the prospect or hope of whose sudden fulfilment dwarfed danger and banished despair. He saw that I detected its presence in him and perceived how it filled his mind.
"But the letter comes before all," said he. "I expected to die without seeing her; I will die without seeing her, if I must, to save the letter."
"I know you will," said I.
He pressed my hand again. As he turned away, James came with his noiseless quick step into the room.
"The carriage is at the door, sir," said he.
"Look after the Count, James," said Rudolf. "Don't leave him till he sends you away."
