went to the palace, but found none who
would announce her.  Footmen ran from her,
covering their eyes. She wandered through
the rooms, and lost herself in a great saloon, at
the very time that I stood, as she knew, before
my military judges. A kind face timidly
peeped through a door; for the servants'
hearts were with her, and their eyes were upon
her; and a faltering voice cried, "Hist! We
must not show you to the duke, my lady; but
his private secretary is now coming this way;
he is going to his royal highness. Speak to him;
but don't say you were told to do so." The
kind face vanished, and the secretary, who
came, was addressed. He could not take the
wife to plead in the duke's presence; but
promised to say, on her part, as much as
possible. After this, my helper hurried back
to Rastadt, and reached her inn there about
noon. At the inn she found some people
who had been in the castle. They gave her
hope; said that I had won much by my
speech in defence; that the witnesses had
spoken to my advantage, and that all went
on well. Her brother came at last; and she
read the issue in his face. She had obtained
leave to visit me before my execution. And
now I will give, from her diary, some paragraphs
to show the woman's side of these
experiences in the life of a man whose crime
it was to believe in tlie existence of a German
people. It is the wife who now speaks:—

"He is coming," said the people in the
bar-room, and rushed to the window. I
followed them. There came the carriage
surrounded by soldiers; gendarmes sat in it,
and he in the midst of them. Knowing that
I was in that inn, his mournful eyes were
seeking for me. Almost senseless, I fell back
in the arms of the kind-hearted hostess; but
I recovered soon, and called his name. It
was a cry of anguish coming out of the very
depth of my heart. I strove to get through
the window into the street, thinking the
carriage would stop; but, I was held back,
and I passed half an hour almost mad with
grief. At length I was again able to think,
and my hopes clung with all the energy of
despair to the plan of deliverance prepared
by me. I went with my brother Franz into
my room, and gave him my clothes, tied his
hair, and tried the hood and the bonnet. He
became perfectly disguised, and his appearance
was not strange at all. The gown had
the due length and width, and Franz himself
ceased to doubt our success. These garments
my husband must put on; it was to see
whether all was right that I first tried them
on my brother, who was of like size and
shape.

Strengthened and animated by the hope of
success, I went to Otto. He was already in that
casemate, behind which the sentenced usually
were shot. The hope of saving him supported
me. The prison was almost dark, and there
was nothing in it but two bundles of straw,
a pitcher with water, and the half of a black
coarse loaf. Otto was writing letters to his
friends and to the German people, for which
he was to die. When I entered the prison, he
came towards me with hasty paces, and
taking firmly my hand, he said: "Courage,
Helene, courage! It must be!" His firmness
supported mine; but I spoke much and
quickly, to have no time for a weakness,
which had already overcome my brother,
who sat weeping on the ground.

They brought in the dinner, provided by
the town. Otto tried it, and said: "This is my
last meal" (the Henikers' mahlreit); "let us
see what they have sent to me, and whether
the wine is good. No, it is not good; I will
not drink much of it, and I will not eat
either; my appetite is gone."

When the gaoler was gone, I told Otto my
plan. He would not approve of it. He had
done with life, he said, and conquered the
bitterness of death. His fate was not to be
averted.

"Ah, but it may," I cried, "since you are
not condemned unanimously. Dr. K— and
the judge of examination are gone to
Carlsruhe to obtain an alteration of the
sentence."

"No, it is impossible; there were five
voices against me," said Otto, pacing his
prison with me.

I myself became doubtful now, and sent
for the lieutenant, who had humanely left
me alone with my husband, although bound
to be present at our interview. When he
came, he confirmed what I had said, and
added, that in any case Otto would not be
shot, late as it then was, before Monday
morning.

"Now we will think of nothing else," I
said, "than how to save you; and before all,
my brother must leave us, that he may not
be involved."

The carriage that brought me to the prison
waited before the postern, a dark vaulted
passage under the main rampart. After
having used the carriage, F— was to send it
back, and to give notice, whether the gate
had been passed without question. In
half-an-hour the gaoler brought me a small slip
of paper, upon which was pencilled, "Dr. K—
is gone to Carlsruhe— passed without
impediment."

Next, I sent for a dinner to my inn, and
urged my husband to eat: "For," I said,
"you cannot tell how long you may be forced
to hunger on your flight." But he said: "I
will not fly; I cannot do so. What is to
become of the officer who is so kind as to
permit our being together all this time,
against his orders? What is to become of
you, if you stay here instead of me, exposed
to the anger of a troop of soldiers?"

Afterwards, I found that he had pride of
his own in staying. He would not fly; a
lady who had ottered him the means an
hour before the surrender, told me that he