"Yes, sire, very important," said Weingarten, approaching nearer.

The king reached out his hand. "Give them to me," said he.

"Sire, I have no dispatches."

"A verbal message, then. Speak."

"Sire, all is lost; Count Puebla suspects me."

The king was startled for a moment, but collected himself
immediately. "He suspects, but he is certain of nothing?"

"No, sire; but his suspicion amounts almost to certainty. Yesterday
I was copying a dispatch which was to go that evening, and which was
of the highest importance to your majesty, when I suddenly perceived
Count Puebla standing beside me at my desk. He had entered my room
very quietly, which showed that he had his suspicions, and was
watching me. He snatched my copy from the desk and read it. 'For
whom is this?' said he, in a threatening tone. I stammered forth
some excuses; said that I intended writing a history, and that I
took a copy of all dispatches for my work. He would not listen to
me. 'You are a traitor!' said he, in a thundering voice. 'I have
suspected you for some time; I am now convinced of your treachery.
You shall have an examination tomorrow; for to-night you will remain
a prisoner in your room.' He then locked my desk, put the key in his
pocket, and, taking with him the dispatch and my copy, left the
room. I heard him lock it and bolt my door. I was a prisoner."