"I know his handwriting; give me the paper."

He took the paper and glanced over it searchingly. "It is his
handwriting," he murmured; "but I will examine it again."

Speaking thus, he stepped hastily to his escritoire, and took from a
small box several closely written yellow papers, and compared them
with the document which Weingarten had given him.

Ah, how little did Trenck dream, as he wrote those letters, that
they would witness against him, and stamp him as a criminal! They
were already a crime in the king's eyes, for they were tender
letters that Trenck had dared to write from Vienna to the Princess
Amelia. They had never reached her!

And not those tender epistles of a tearful and unhappy love must
bear witness against the writer, and condemn him for the second
time!

"It is his handwriting," said the king, as he laid the letters again
in the box. "I thank you, Baron Weingarten, you have saved me from a
disagreeable occurrence, for, if I will not even believe that Trenck
intended murder, he was at all events willing to create a scene, if
only to gratify his vanity. It appears that he has now played out
his role at Vienna, as well as in St. Petersburg and Berlin, and the
world would forget him if he did not attract its attention by some
mad piece of folly. How he intended to accomplish this I do not
know, but certainly not by a murder--no, I cannot believe that!"

"Your majesty is always noble and magnanimous, but it appears to me