From there I sent to Bernenstein at the palace word of my coming.

But there I was delayed.

There was no train for an hour.
"I'll ride," I cried to myself, only to remember the next moment that, if I rode, I should come to my journey's end much later.

There was nothing for it but to wait, and it may be imagined in what mood I waited.

Every minute seemed an hour, and I know not to this day how the hour wore itself away.