The king was rapidly sinking; he had
suffered another stroke, and was now without voice. There was
unusual activity in the barracks. The students of the university
were committing mild depredations, such as building bonfires,
holding flambeau processions, and breaking windows which
contained the photographs of Prince Frederick of Carnavia, who,
strangely enough, was still wrapt in obscurity. When Maurice
entered the Grand Hotel he looked casually among the porters,
but the round-faced one was missing. He approached the desk. The
proprietor did not recognize him.
"No, my friend," said Maurice, affably, as a visitors' book was
pushed forward, "I am not going to sign. Instead, I wish to ask
a favor. A week ago a party of the king's troopers met upstairs."
The proprietor showed signs of returning memory, together with a
strange agitation.
"There was a slight disturbance," went on Maurice, still using
the affable tone. "Herr--ah-- Hamilton, I believe--"
The proprietor grew limp and yellow. "I--I do not know where he
is."
"I do," replied Maurice. "Don't you recognize me? Have I changed
so since I came here to doctor a sprained ankle?"
"You?--Before God, Herr, I was helpless; I had nothing to do
with it!" terrified at the peculiar smile of the victim.
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