“And if I should say so, how would it help us?  You know well that I am watched day and night.  My mother never lets me leave her side, and our governess watches over me still, just as if I were a child that could not walk a step without an attendant, nor write a line without her reading it.”

“Ah, you dear, sweet angel! if you only loved me half as ardently as I love you, your pretty, prudent little head would already have devised some means whereby poor John Adolphus would not have to plead in vain for one blissful moment passed alone with you.”

“I love you, John Adolphus, but oh, I dare not love you!  The wrath of my mother would be boundless if she even suspected it.”

“She need not suspect it beforehand, nor hear anything about it before we are certain of your father’s gracious consent.”

“You esteem that possible?  You believe that my father will ever consent for me—­”

“For you to condescend to become my wife?  I hope so—­hope that the Emperor’s favor exalts me a little, so that the chasm which separates us is not too great for you to cross, for you to carry in your bosom a strong heart and a true love.  About all these things I must speak with you, sweetest Princess, for here we must be cautious.  Only see with what earnest looks the Electress is already regarding us!  Be pitiful, Louise; tell me that you will consent to meet me alone for one quarter of an hour.”

“Pass by the cathedral, then, to-morrow about ten o’clock of the forenoon.  Old Trude will be there and have a message for you, and—­”

“Long live our most gracious Sovereign!  Long live George William!” cried Count Schwarzenberg, rising from his seat and holding the golden bumper aloft in his right hand.

All the guests started from their seats, and joined in the shouts:  “Long live our most gracious Sovereign!  Long live George William!” And the golden goblets clashed against one another, and the trumpets and kettledrums chimed in with crashing peals.

The Electoral Prince, too, would rise from his seat, but his head swam, all was whirls and turns before his eyes, and he sank back upon his chair.

Gabriel Nietzel stooped over him.  “How are you, gracious sir?  Are you not well?”

“Quite well as yet, Gabriel.  Only give me a fresh glass of water and put some sugar in it.”

Gabriel Nietzel flew to the sideboard, and, while he filled a glass with water, his pale lips murmured, “Your evil genius bade you say that!” And while he shook into the glass the white pulverized sugar, which, by the way, he had not taken from the bowl standing on the sideboard, in the depths of his heart he whispered, “Rebecca, this I do for you!”

He took up the tall tumbler and presented it to the Electoral Prince.  Frederick William seized the glass and drank, in long draughts.  It had done him good, his head was easy again, there was no longer such a fearful roaring in his ears.