“Hear him well,” whispered Mueller, amid his tears; “he can not make the sacrifice.  He will die of grief.  My God! go to him, baron.  Tell him he need not make the sacrifice.  No one can require of him the impossible.  Go to him, man!  Be humane.  My God! only hear how he laments and groans!”

“I hear it, but I can not go in.  I do not know his sorrow, and if the Prince needs me he can call me.”

“You are a savage,” said Mueller desperately.  “Well, if you will not comfort him, then shall I go to him.”

He stretched out his hand for the door knob, but Baron Leuchtmar held him back, and led the good private secretary back to his own room.

“Let us go to bed, friend,” he said; “even if we can not sleep, as is probable, yet we can rest, which is needful for our aged limbs.  We can not yet help the Prince; and, believe me, he would never forgive us if we were to go to him unsummoned, thereby betraying that we have been privy to his suffering and his pain.  He has a grief, there is no question about that; but he is retiringly modest, and at the same time has a stout heart that will admit no one to share with him a burden he has perhaps imposed upon himself.  I am glad of this, Mueller, and I tell you such hours of solitary grief purify the manly heart; in them the old myth is verified, from the fire and ashes of spent sorrows springs up the new-fledged phoenix.  Should we prevent our Prince from passing through his purgatory, that he may emerge from the flames as a phoenix and a victorious hero?”

“You may be right,” sighed Mueller, “but I only know that he is suffering bitterly.”

Baron Leuchtmar smiled sadly.  “May these sufferings steel his heart,” he said, “that he may be armed against greater and bitterer trials!  Come, Mueller, we will to bed, and to sleep.”

But, however composedly and resolutely the baron had opposed himself to the suggestions of his soft-hearted colleague, sleep that night forsook his eyes, and ever he heard in imagination the Prince’s groans and laments.  At times he could hardly repress his longing to get up, to creep to the Prince’s door and listen, that he might discover whether he were still awake.  But the baron forcibly restrained himself, and finally, as day already began to dawn, he actually fell asleep.  He might possibly have slept a few hours, but his servant approached his couch and roused him.

“Baron,” he said, “some one is here who urgently desires to speak to you.”

“Who, Frederick, who is there?” asked Baron Leuchtmar, quickly rising.

“The chamberlain, Baron von Marwitz, has arrived from Berlin.”

“Marwitz, the Elector’s first chamberlain?” cried the baron.  “Quick, my clothes, quick!  Help me to dress myself.  Run and tell Baron von Marwitz that I will be at his service directly.  But first tell me whether his highness is already visible.  Has he already ordered his breakfast?”