object of the gravest suspicion. He demanded a private interview with
one of the higher functionaries and a M. Fleury, a naturalized
Frenchman in some way connected with the police-courts. To them he
told his whole story. After the first moment's stupefaction the
Prussian cried, "But, unhappy man, we must send you back: the treaty
compels it. My God! my God! why did you come here?"--"There is no help
for us," said M. Fleury, "but in Heaven's name write to Count
Eulenberg, on whom all depends: he is a man whom everybody loves. What
a misfortune!"

He was taken back to prison. He wrote; he received a kind but vague
reply; delays followed, and investigations into the truth of his
story; his anguish of mind was reaching a climax in which he felt that
his dagger would be his best friend after all. A citizen of the place,
a M. Kamke, a total stranger, offered to go bail for him: his story
had got abroad and excited the deepest sympathy. The bail was not
effected without difficulty: ultimately, he was declared free,
however, but the chief of police intimated that he had better remain
in Königsberg for the present. Anxious to show his gratitude to his
benefactors, fearful, too, of being suspected, he tarried for a week,
which he passed in the family of the generous M. Kamke. At the end of
that time he was again summoned to the police-court, where two
officials whom he already knew told him sadly that the order to send
him back to Russia had come from Berlin: they could but give him time
to escape at his own risk, and pray God for his safety. He went back
to his friend M. Kamke: a plan was organized at once, and by the
morrow he was on the way to Dantzic. Well provided with money and
letters by the good souls at Königsberg, he crossed Germany safely,
and on the 22d of September, 1846, found himself safe in Paris.