“It is true, my father; I was at the fair,” replied Frederick, submissively.

“You tell the truth at any rate,” continued the Count, somewhat touched by his frankness.  “Well, then, we won’t say anything more about the past and Marguerite; but tell me as frankly what prospect you have of success in the competition for this famous clock, for on that will greatly depend the power of sustaining our family influence.”

So appealed to, Frederick thought it wise at once to prepare his father for the truth.  He told him that until that evening he had imagined that he possessed every prospect of obtaining the prize, and then he repeated all that he had overheard Dumiger asserting.  In the bitterness of his spirit he inveighed against him as a personal enemy, and as he spoke vehemently and earnestly, his father’s eyes glistened with vengeance and pleasure, for he saw that the dignity of the father had passed into his son; he had never seen the youth so excited, he now felt that he was worthy of the old time-honored race.

“Ah,” he said, “Dumiger again; and his scheme and plan seem well founded.  However, neither the man nor his production will find great favor in the council while I have influence there; he may exaggerate his merits.”

“I think not,” said Frederick.  “But there is one way to get rid of his competition,” said Frederick, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“No, no, young man; take your hand from your sword:  I will have no brawling, no bloodshed, like those common burghers, whose sons are even now rustling through the market-place.  But wait a little; night gives counsel.  I think I have a way far more practical and less hazardous than that which you propose—­leave the matter in my hands, Frederick.  I am glad to find you have some spirit, that it has not all been dissipated on that foolish girl; there is always hope in man where there is energy.  What I feared was that you might become a mere dreamer, and struggle through an idle, vaporing existence:  now I hold that you are worthy of your name, although the conviction has reached me in an unpleasant form.  But leave this to me, all will be right; you have only one thing to do, to send Hoffman to me to-morrow morning.”

“Hoffman the silversmith, who lives at the corner near the senate house?” asked Frederick.

“Precisely,” replied the Count, and soon his firm unbroken step was heard ringing in the distance.

Frederick went out on the balcony to meditate on what possible steps his father proposed taking to overrule the opposition of Dumiger.  With all his frivolity and dissipation he was greatly ambitious, and most anxious to sustain a reputation he had long enjoyed of having it in his power to command success in any pursuit to which he chose to direct his attention—­that Alcibiades and Admirable Crichton character which is the principal source of failure to many men in life.  With the exception of the hours wasted in the useless