The Elector could no longer bear it.  He looked up with glances of entreaty at the count, who, drawn up to his full height, stood proud and commanding at the side of his chair, his sharp eyes piercing down into the court over the ladies’ heads.

“Ah, Adam,” sighed George William, “you, too, have forgotten me, and are only looking upon him who is coming!”

But, however softly these words had been spoken, the count heard them, and tenderly he leaned over the Elector, and seized his hand to kiss it.

“I am looking at the newcomer,” he whispered, “but I never forget you, and my heart can never be unmindful of the love and fidelity it owes you.”

“Hurrah!  Long live the Electoral Prince!” was borne up in tumultuous uproar from the pleasure garden.  “Long live the Electoral Prince!  Long live the Elector!  Hurrah for the Elector George William!”

“They are calling for you, my husband, they call for you!” said the Electress.  “Will you not show yourself to our dear people?”

“I ought, indeed, to be thankful to the dear people,” returned her husband.  “The dear people have at least reminded the Electress that I still exist, although she had crowded me back and rendered me entirely invisible behind her.  Yes, I will show myself to the people, as they still think of me in the midst of their merriment.  Step back from the window, ladies, make room for your Elector and lord!  And you, Count Schwarzenberg, come and give me your arm; I would lean upon you!”

The count willingly offered the Elector his arm.  Powerfully drawn up by him, the Elector rose from his seat, and, leaning upon his favorite, stepped close up to the window.  The shouts of joy were for a moment hushed; perhaps because the Electoral Prince had just ridden into the palace yard, perhaps because the ladies’ retreat from the window was considered by the people a sign that the Elector was about to appear.  And now, within the window frame, was seen the clumsy, broad figure of the Elector; now was seen his large head, sparsely covered with gray hairs, his pale, swollen face, prematurely old, with its melancholy blue eyes and thin, colorless lips, round which played not the slightest smile.  In the handsome, powerful, and youthful Electoral Prince the people had just joyfully greeted Brandenburg’s future, and now from the window of that gray, gloomy, wretched old palace looked out upon them the hopelessness of Brandenburg’s present.  Like gazing upon embodied care and joyless resignation it was, to behold the Elector’s grave, forbidding aspect, and before it the joyous cry upon the people’s lips was silenced.  They stared up at the window in dumb horror, and only here and there sounded cries from compassionate or bribed mouths:  “Long live the Elector!  Long live George William!” And like a dying echo came back the answer on this side and on that, feebly and slowly:  “Long live the Elector!  Long live George William!”