“She takes the lachrymatory for a golden vase, which your excellency is presenting to her as a present.”

“You are witty, it seems, Master Gabriel,” said the count sharply.  “But that your portraits are good must be admitted, and your sketch is altogether charming.  Only you have sketched for me there a joyous festival, and, if I remember rightly, I ordered of you a picture which should represent the death of Julius Caesar, or some such murderous occasion.  But I see no dagger and no murderer in this sketch.”

“Only look at that man standing behind the Electoral Prince.”

“Ah, I see him now.  Why, master, that is your own likeness!”

“Yes, your excellency, my own likeness.  You grant me your permission, then, to appear at the feast?”

“Why not?  Paul Veronese, too, has introduced his own portrait among those of his banqueters.  What is your image there handing to the Electoral Prince in that basket?”

“A piece of white bread, most gracious sir, nothing more.”

“Ah, a piece of white bread!  You have become, it seems, the young Electoral Prince’s lackey, have laid your character as artist upon the shelf, and become body page to the gracious Prince?”

“It seems so, most gracious sir,” replied Nietzel with solemn voice.  “But see here, the truth lies on this page.”

And he handed the count a second sheet of paper.

“What do I see?  Something seems to have disturbed the banquet.”

“Yes, your excellency, very greatly disturbed it.  Do you still see the man who stood behind the Electoral Prince?”

“No, I see him nowhere.”

“He has fled, your excellency.  He is the murderer of the Electoral Prince, who is borne out senseless.”

“Of the Electoral Prince?  Conrad the Third, you mean!  For was it not the murder of the last of the Hohenstaufens which you promised me?”

“Yes, your excellency, and I will perform my promise if the sketch pleases you.”

“It pleases me very much, and it suits me perfectly,” replied the count, whose glance remained ever directed to the two sketches.  “Yes, yes,” he continued slowly, “I understand, and the design has my approval, for it is simple and natural.  You have your plan complete in your head?”

“Quite complete, your excellency.”

“Then it is not necessary to talk any more about it, or to preserve the sketches,” said the count, slowly tearing the two papers into little bits.

“You are right, count, it is not necessary to preserve the sketches, since I soon expect to carry them out on a large scale.  But we have something else to talk about, your excellency.”

Schwarzenberg looked in amazement at the painter, whose voice had now lost its reverential expression, and was very firm and determined.

“We have only to speak upon such subjects as I may choose, master,” he said haughtily.

“No, Sir Count,” retorted Nietzel decidedly; “but we have to speak about what follows the completion of my painting.  We must speak of that, even should it not please your excellency.  On Sunday your banquet takes place; on that day I should like to set off for Italy with my wife and child, and leave Germany forever.”