The lean face of Ganhoff flushed slightly, and his eyes were lighted with desire. "If your highness commanded—"
"You would go; but for you to arrive there is another thing. You are a German, and it is dangerous for a foreigner to enter an uprisen country. Who knows where the king is at this moment, and where he will be in half a month or a month? It is necessary to ride through the whole country. Besides, it cannot be! You will not go, for it is necessary to send one of my own people, a man of high family, so as to convince the king that not all the nobles have left me."
"An inexperienced man might do much harm," said Ganhoft, timidly.
"An envoy will have no work there except to deliver my letter, and bring back an answer; and any man can explain that it was not I who gave orders to beat the Swedes at Klavany."
Ganhoff was silent.
The prince began again to walk with unquiet steps through the room: on his forehead was manifest a continual struggle of thought. In truth, he had not known a moment of peace from the time of his treaty with the Swedes. Pride devoured him, his conscience gnawed him, the unexpected resistance of the country and the army gnawed him; the uncertainty of the future, and the threat of ruin terrified him. He struggled, he fought, he passed sleepless nights, he was failing in health. His eyes were sinking, he was growing thin; his face, formerly red, became blue, and almost with every hour silver threads increased in his mustaches and his forelock. In a word, he lived in torment, and bent under the burden.
Ganhoff followed him with his eyes as he walked through the room; he had still a little hope that the prince would bethink himself, and send him.
But the prince halted suddenly, and struck his forehead with his palm. "Two squadrons of cavalry, to horse at once! I will lead them myself."
Ganhoff looked on him with wonderment. "An expedition?" inquired he, involuntarily.
"Move on!" said the prince. "God grant that it be not too late!"
