The porter, who was only asleep in his lodge, rushed out, and old Dietrich, the valet, also came hurrying down the steps.

They bore the Prince to his own apartments, put him to bed upon his own couch, and, as the Chamberlain von Goetz saw the old faithful Dietrich standing beside his young master, sobbing and so full of grief, he kindly laid his hand upon his shoulder.

“It is nothing of moment, good old man.  The Prince has only taken too much wine, that is all.  Be comforted.  To-morrow will make all straight again.”

Dietrich sorrowfully shook his head.  “You are mistaken, Sir Chamberlain; this is not the effect of wine.  The Electoral Prince is much too fine and noble a gentleman for that; he never drinks more than he can stand.  Just see how pale and wretched he looks.  My dear young master is sick, very sick.  They have murdered him, they have killed him, they—­”

“Hush, Dietrich, for God’s sake, hush!” interposed the chamberlain, turning pale.  “Guard your tongue, that it never again utter such horrible words; guard your thoughts, that they dare not even think anything so dreadful.”

“It is true, nevertheless,” murmured the old man, and, as he bent over the Electoral Prince and watched him with loving looks, the tears fell hot and fast from his eyes upon Frederick William’s pale face.  These tears roused the latter, restored him to consciousness.

There was yet one man who loved him, who sympathized with him, who wept when he saw him suffer!

The Electoral Prince opened his eyes, and, on recognizing old Dietrich, nodded to him and murmured softly, “Dietrich, I am suffering fearfully.”

“Hear, Sir Chamberlain,” said Dietrich; “the dear Prince recognizes me, he has his reason, he knows what he sees and says, so you see it is not wine that—­But he says that he suffers fearfully, and I believe it indeed; for what burns his vitals is—­I must go for the physician, Dr. White; he must try every means; he must know what ails the Prince—­what they have done to him; and he must apply remedies.  Stay here, Sir Chamberlain; I will run for Dr. White.”

And old Dietrich hastily started to leave the couch, but the Prince’s hand was laid upon his arm, and held him fast.

“Stay, Dietrich, stay!  You, dear Goetz, go you, I beg, for Dr. White and fetch him here; he must come immediately, for I am really sick.  I suffer.  Make haste, dear Goetz.  You are younger, brisker than my good old Dietrich; therefore I choose you.”

The chamberlain pressed a kiss upon the Prince’s burning, trembling hand.

“Dearest sir, as swiftly as a man’s anxious heart can move his feet I shall hasten to the doctor and bring him here!”

The chamberlain flew on tiptoe from the apartment, and all was still.  Nothing was heard but the low moans and sighs of the Prince, who lay there with pallid features and shaking limbs, while over him bent weeping his faithful old servant.