"Yes. Here, read it."

Herbeck compared the two. "Where did you find these?"

"In Arnsberg's desk," returned the duke, the anger in his eyes giving
place to gloomy retrospection. "Arnsberg, my boyhood playmate, the man I
loved and trusted and advanced to the highest office in my power. Is
that not the way? Do we ever trust any one fully without being in the
end deceived? Well, dead or alive," the duke continued, his throat
swelling, "ten thousand crowns to him who brings Arnsberg to me, dead or
alive."

"He will never come back," said Herbeck.

"Not if he is wise. He was clever. He sent all his fortune to Paris, so
I found, and what I confiscated was nothing but his estate. But do you
believe me"--putting a hand against his heart--"something here tells me
that some day fate will drag him back and give him into my hands?"

"You are very bitter."

"And have I not cause? Did not my wife die of a broken heart, and did I
not become a broken man? You do not know all, Herbeck, not quite all.
Franz also sought the hand of the Princess Sofia. He, too, loved her,
but I won. Well, his revenge must have been sweet to him."

"But your daughter has been restored to her own."

"Due to your indefatigable efforts alone. Ah, Herbeck, nothing will ever