Only
yesterday he had laughed with me, talked and smoked with me, and now he
was dead. A rage pervaded me. We are puny things, we, who strut the
highways of the world, parading a so-called wisdom. There is only one
philosophy; it is to learn to die.
"Come," said I to the innkeeper; and we went down the hill.
"When does the Herr leave?"
"At once. There will be no questions?" I asked, pointing to the
village.
"None. Who knows?"
"Then, remember that Herr Hillars was taken suddenly ill and died, and
that he desired to be buried here. I dare say the Prince will find
some excuse for his arm, knowing the King's will in regard to dueling.
Do you understand me?"
"Yes."
I did not speak to him again, and he strode along at my heels with an
air of preoccupation. We reached the inn in silence.
"What do you know about her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde?" I
asked abruptly.
"What does Herr wish to know?" shifting his eyes from my gaze.
"All you can tell me."
"I was formerly in her father's service. My wife----" He hesitated,
and the expression on his face was a sour one.
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