“He’s not the Commander-in-Chief,” said Fritz.

“Oh yes he is, really.”

“No, he’s not. That’s the Duke.”

“He is really, only he lets the Duke pretend. He could be Duke if he wanted to.”

“Now, children,” said Frau Graben, ‘don’t let’s have nonsense! “

“It’s not nonsense, Grabey. My father

“We’ll have no more guns or wars or dukes or it will be no funeral procession for you. Now, Liesel, you’d better come over here with me or you won’t see a thing there. We arranged ourselves at the window and the innkeeper brought wine for Frau Graben and me; the children had a sweet drink and the inevitable spiced cakes.

The guns booming from the tower of the royal schloss announced that the procession was about to begin. Slowly the cavalcade descended the mountain into the town on its way to the church where the late Duke had been lying in state.

There was the carriage on which the coffin would be placed and taken to the shores of the lake when Charon would row it over; only a few of the nearest relatives would cross to the Island-led by Maximilian and Count Frederic.

There was the Processional Cross glittering in the sun as I had seen it before, and there was Maximilian remote as a hero of the forest, seated in his carriage, wearing his robes of state purple velvet edged with ermine and as I gazed at him I said to myself: Is he really my husband? But when he looked up, for he knew I should be at the window, and smiled, he was no longer remote, and not even the sound of the ominous funeral march nor the guards with black feathers in their hats in place of the habitual blue ones, could curb my joy.

Slowly they filed past.

“There’s my father,” said Dagobert in an awed whisper.

And there he was, the Count himself, in military uniform, medals glistening on his chest, a black feather in his helmet.

He too looked up at the window and I fancied there was a supercilious smile about his lips.

The duration of the church service seemed interminable to the children; they fidgeted and Dagobert wanted Fritz’s seat because he thought it was better than his own and as the eldest he should have it. He tried to jostle Fritz out of it, but Frau Graben in her comfortable way controlled them.

At length the service was over. The coffin was laid in the carriage for its last journey to the Island. The band struck up a Dead March, and slowly the horses, caparisoned in heavy black velvet, black plumes waving on their heads, drew the carriage through the streets. On either side marched the soldiers.

The crowds were silent as the cavalcade went winding its way though the town towards the forest and lake. When it came back the carriage which had contained the coffin would be empty, and the chief mourners would no longer be there; the Processional Cross would be taken back to the church and locked away in the crypt.

Dagobert announced that he wanted to go to the Island to see his mother’s grave.

“Now you know nobody is allowed on the Island today,” said Frau Graben.

“If you’re very good I’ll take you to see the Duke’s grave.”

“When?” Dagobert wanted to know.

“Not today because you wouldn’`t be allowed. This is the day of the burial.”

“When my father dies it’ll be a better funeral than this,” said Dagobert.

“Good gracious alive, what a thing to talk of!”

“I didn’`t want him dead,” said Dagobert, ashamed, “only I wanted him to have a better funeral.”

“There’s not a better funeral than the Duke’s,” said Fritz.

There can be,” insisted Dagobert.

“Now no more talk of funerals or there’ll be no trip to the Duke’s grave for some people.”

That quietened them but they were restive.

I suggested a guessing game which we played with moderate concentration until the Processional Cross was brought back and the crowds started to disperse.

Frau Graben thought we might be leaving soon, but when we descended to the inn parlour it was to find the crowds were so thick that we could scarcely move.

“We’ll make our way to the stables,” said Frau Graben.

“By the time we’re ready to leave it’ll be less congested.”

Dagobert slipped out of the inn yard to look at the crowds and I was anxious because of what had happened to him in the forest. I followed him, calling him.

I then saw Sergeant Franck who had caught Dagobert by the arm. He pulled him round and indicated me.

I went up.

Sergeant Franck clicked his heels and bowed.

“It’s too crowded out there,” he said.

“Give them ten minutes and it’ll be considerably less crowded. You want to be careful no one picks your pockets in a crowd like this. All the beggars and thieves come in for miles around. It’s a field day for them.”

Frau Graben came up.

Again he clicked and bowed.

“I was just telling the Fraulein here that it would be better to wait for a few minutes. Why don’t you pop in and see Gretchen and the children? She’d be glad to see you.”

Frau Graben said it was a good idea, and she wished that she had brought the cordial she’d promised.

“Never mind, she’ll be better pleased to see you than all the cordial in Rochenstein.”

“I don’t know that that’s very polite to my cordial,” beamed Frau Graben.

“Better still,” I said, ‘it’s very complimentary to you. “

Sergeant Franck made a way for us through the crowd and we left the main street. There was a small side alley made very pretty by window-boxes on the sills; it was like a little court.

Frau Graben told me that the married guards had their homes in little squares like this throughout the town, though the single ones were in barracks close to the schloss.

The door of one of the houses was open; one stepped straight into a living-room. There were two children sitting on the floor-one, about six years old, drawing, the other, about four, was playing with bricks.

“Visitors, Gretchen,” said Sergeant Franck; ‘and now it’s back to duty for me. You’ll make the introductions, Frau Graben, I know. “

“You can trust me,” said Frau Graben. And she said something which I didn’`t hear. For I could only gaze in shocked amazement at Gretchen Franck, for I recognized her at once; she was Gretchen Swartz whom I had met in the clinic when I was going to have my baby; the girl who had been in great distress and who they told me was dead.

She curtseyed to me, but I saw the startled expression in her face and I was aware that she knew me, even as I knew her.

Frau Graben was smiling at us, watching us-as though we were two spiders in a bowl.

Then she said: “And how is the new baby, eh?”

“He’s sleeping,” said Gretchen.

“I hear he’s going to be the image of his father. So you didn’`t come out to see the show, Gretchen.”

“I couldn’'t very well take the children,” said Gretchen, her eyes still’ on me.

“You could have joined us at the inn window. There was plenty of room.

If I’d known I should have brought that cordial. Are you all right?

You look a bit . “

“I’m all right,” said Gretchen quickly.

“And Mrs.. ‘s ‘

Miss Trant,” said Frau Graben.

“Miss Trant.” Her eyes held mine.

“You would like some refreshment?”

“We had wine at the inn. I dare say the children would like something.”

“Yes,” said Dagobert, ‘we would. “

While she brought the refreshment I was thinking: I must speak to her alone.

When she came back, she put a tray on the table and served the wine.

Her eyes held mine as she handed me my glass. She was telling me that she recognized me and was refraining from saying so for fear of my embarrassment.

There was some cordial for the children and the inevitable spiced cakes. Dagobert said to the children: “Two bandits tried to kidnap me, but I frightened them away.”

The children listened intently to his imaginary adventures in the forest.

“He wore my magic hat and lost it,” Fritz told.

Then they talked of the magic hat.

Frau Graben sat listening; then she said: “How are your roses coming on Gretchen?”

“Very well,” replied Gretchen.

“I’ll have a look,” said Frau Graben.

“No, don’t bother to come with me. I know where to find them.”

Gretchen looked at me. She moved through the open door into the kitchen. I followed.

“I knew you at once,” she said in a low voice.

“And I you. But I couldn’'t believe it. They told me you had died and that your grandmother had taken the little boy.

She shook her head.

“It was my baby who died. She was a little girl.”

“Then why?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t understand why Dr. Kleine should have deliberately lied to me.”

She seemed bewildered.

“And you?” she said.

“What happened?

“My baby died. A little girl. I saw her in her coffin. A little white face in a white bonnet.”

She nodded.

“Mine was like that. I dreamed of her for a long time.”

“And what really happened?”

“My grandmother took me back after all and I came home. Hans was the greatest friend of my Franz and he courted me. He said that Franz would have wanted him to take care of me and he had always loved Franz and me too. So we married, and my grandmother was pleased because Hans was in the Duke’s Guards and gradually I began to forget that nightmare and be happy again. What did you do?”

“I went back to England.”