Just as he imagined he was taking leave of his senses, he felt himself being violently whisked away. And the next moment he was once more lying in warm straw, his sharpened olfactory nerves became aware of the scent of hay about him, and the smell of sweating horses in the stable, while a church clock close by rang out the hour of midnight—eleven strokes! But it was a different chime from the one that had struck the first stroke he had heard. It sounded deeper.

The following morning Caspar, the young groom, shook him gently to wake him, and, after feeding him, took him at once to the Archduke’s Groom-to-the-Chamber.

“Well, Cambyses, where have you been again?” Caspar enquired, laughing good-naturedly as he led him along. “Where have you been, Cambyses?” he repeated again and again. They crossed the courtyard of a Palace, ascended a flight of stately marble steps, and entered a dark paneled hall full of servants busy making all manner of preparations, while the Groom-of-the-Chamber stood by issuing his orders to them and picking his teeth.

“Master Pointner,” cried Caspar from the doorway, “Cambyses has come back all right.”

Pointner ceased giving orders and picking his teeth. He looked sullenly at the dog who had leaped into the room and at the groom who had remained standing at the door.

“Just come back?” he enquired.

“No,” replied Caspar, “he was lying in the stable and had slept there all night.”

The Archduke, wearing a loose fur cloak, was warming himself by the fire in a luxurious apartment. Count Waltersburg was standing in front of him. As soon as the latter caught sight of the Groom-of-the-Chamber coming in with the dog he went into fits of laughter. “There’s that rascal back again after all, and your Imperial Highness thought it impossible for the dog to run all that way over the hills.”

The Archduke looked down at Cambyses, who had quietly stretched himself in front of the fire. “Yes indeed! And he seems all right. Well, I’m very glad. I was afraid he might have been frozen to death.” He gave the dog a sly dig in the ribs with the point of his shoe.

Count Waltersburg shook his head. “A good thrashing would be the best thing,” he observed thoughtfully. “Otherwise the brute will think he can run away and come back again just as he pleases.”

The Archduke cast an enquiring glance up at Pointner, who shrugged his shoulders peevishly. “It might be just as well,” he said.

“Well then,” commanded the Archduke, “go ahead with it.” At these words the dog sprang to his feet looking in alarm from one to the other.

“Amazing!” laughed Waltersburg. “Anyone would think he understood every word.” The dog gave him a penetrating, imploring look, but Waltersburg only laughed the louder. “Yes, dear friend, it’s no good looking like that. You’ve got to be punished.”

“Cambyses!” called Pointner sternly, turning toward the door.

“Where are you going?” the Archduke enquired.

“I thought it would be better to do it outside,” stammered Pointner.

“No, here!” was the Archduke’s cold and curt command.

Pointner still hesitated and then began slowly and reluctantly to unfasten the belt about his portly belly.

“Are you going to do it today or tomorrow,” cried the Archduke.

The first blow crashed down. The dog fell flat on the floor and howled. The second blow was a miss, but in his terror the dog howled more loudly than ever. The third and fourth blows did not strike him square, but were very painful notwithstanding.

“Give it to me, Dietrich!” exclaimed the Archduke. “You’re no good! You hit too fast and too irregularly. Give it to me, Dietrich!” He spoke in short gasps, and his hollow cheeks were slightly flushed. Seizing the belt impatiently and leaning forward in his armchair, he raised his arm and slowly let blow after blow fall. His aim was sure and he hit hard. The dog writhed frantically under the blows, his howl rising to a shriek of despair, a heart-rending wail. But the belt whizzed down on him faster and faster, whistling as it cleaved the air. The dog made one faint attempt to get up and escape, but collapsed all of a heap under the hail of blows, and his howling died down as if drowned in tears. The Archduke was in a frenzy, and took no notice of Pointner.

“Your Grace, please!” exclaimed the man anxiously. But the Archduke might have been drunk as he continued swinging the belt and panting with ever-increasing fury.

“There! There! There!” he cried in hoarse, almost inaudible tones, wellnigh beside himself with rage.