The duke never took his eyes off the door through which her highness would enter.
She came in presently, tender with mercy, an arm supporting Gretchen, who was red-eyed and white.
"You sent for us, father ?" How the word pierced the duke's heart! "Yes, my child," he answered; for it mattered not who she was or whither she had come, he had grown to love her.
"I am sorry you sent for Gretchen," said Hildegarde.

"She is ill." Gretchen sighed.

To her the faces of the men were indistinct.

And, besides, she was without interest, listless, drooped.
"My child, will you roll up your left sleeve ?" said the duke.
"My sleeve ?" Hildegarde thoughtfully looked round.

Roll up her sleeve?
What possessed her father?
"Do so at once." "I can not roll up this sleeve, father," blushing and a trifle angry at so strange a request.
Hans opened his knife and laid bare her left arm.