He spoke so loud that his voice echoed through the peristyle; it disturbed one not the least interested in the conversation, Frederick Asprecht.  He lent an attentive ear to all that fell from the speaker’s lips, and then he learned that not only had he been robbed of an affection which he had striven to win, but that the same man who had married Marguerite was about to take from him the possibility of obtaining a prize he sought for.  In the vanity of his pretensions he could not believe it possible that Dumiger really was not at the moment speaking extravagantly; it was not until he listened attentively, and heard him give a detailed account of the nature of his mechanism, that he saw (for he was not wanting in scientific knowledge) that Dumiger’s confidence was far from misplaced.  Frederick, when he had heard sufficient, left the place with a heavy heart, and with melancholy step retired to his chambers of luxury.

He entered the Grand Master’s palace, and through the vast marble hall, where the banners hung against the walls, and devices and armorial bearings testified to the antiquity and gallantry of his race.  The lofty roof, supported by vast ashen beams, echoed to each step as it rang on the pavement.  Sculpture and painting decorated the several galleries; but he passed by all unnoticed, for he had one object in view which absorbed all others, and rendered him now indifferent to the luxuries and grandeur by which he was surrounded.  To his surprise when he entered a colonnade full of the choicest flowers, which united the extreme wings of the vast building, he found his father walking there with an anxious, timid step, his manner was nervous and uneasy.

“Frederick,” said the old man, one of those dignified, astute, tall, gray-bearded, and keen-eyed men, whom we find in the picture galleries of the middle ages, dressed in a suit of stately black, with the golden chain of his order, and riband of the Fleece, “I was very anxious to see you, my son.  The influence of our house is deserting us; you have not attended the council lately—­there is a majority organizing against us.  You should be at your post my son.  The first element of success in life is industry—­patient, untiring industry; it is to this we owe the fortunes of our house the very decorations which I wear, the consideration with which I am treated,” and the old man curled the long, tapering moustache, partly in pride, partly in anger.

“But, my father, you forget that I am wholly occupied in my studies—­that you yourself urged me to contend for the prize which the city gives—­that you considered this would be the readiest means of extending your family influence.”

“Forget!” exclaimed the old man indignantly.  “Forget!” and his spurs clanged upon the pavement.  “I am not quite so old as to forget thus—­neither do I forget that you wasted three months in making love to that jungfrau Marguerite, and three more months in lamenting her loss, even after she had spurned you, you son of the chief citizen of Dantzic.  You succeed in nothing, sir; unstable as water, you trifle away all existence.  Now tell me, you solitary student, where have you been to-night?  Of course not wasting every moment in the holiday with your boon companions, and making love to all the peasants?  Speak, sir.”