“Yes, your excellency,” replied the lackey, with reverential mien, “I heard ringing.  It was the beadle, giving notice that two women were to be put in the pillory on the fish market for committing twenty thefts between them!”

“Stupid fool!  It was I who rang!” cried the count.  “Did I not yesterday notify you through the majordomo that I should no longer call you with a whistle, but with a bell?”

“It is true, your excellency, and I beg your pardon for forgetting it,” replied the lackey humbly.

“Mark it for all time to come,” commanded the count.  “Go now and tell my son, Count John Adolphus, that I wish to speak with him, and request him to come to me.”

The lackey bowed obsequiously and left the apartment.  He paused behind the closed door, and with defiant, angry countenance, shook his clinched fist.

“You will no longer call us by a whistle,” he muttered wrathfully, “and yet you whistle for your parrot and your dogs.  But that is quite too good for your servants and lackeys, and they must now listen for that sheep bell.  Tinkle and ring for us, will you, as if you were the beadle and we good-for-nothing folks to be put in the pillory?  Ah me! every day the rich and high become more haughty, and the poor and lowly must every day put up with more!  We had hoped, indeed, that other times would come, and that the young Elector would shove that old tyrant of a Stadtholder aside, and oust him from his dignities and offices.  But Count Adam von Schwarzenberg retains his place, and the only change for us is that he rings for us instead of whistling as of old.  We must just submit, and when he rings obey his orders as if he whistled.”

With a deep sigh and melancholy air the lackey now walked off to execute his lord’s commands, and summon Count John Adolphus to his father.  This young gentleman made haste to obey the call.

“My son,” cried the Stadtholder, himself opening his cabinet door, “I recognized your step and came to meet you.”

“You have something very urgent to say to me then, since you have so anxiously expected me?” asked John Adolphus, pressing his father’s hand to his lips.

“Yes, much that is urgent,” replied the Stadtholder.  “The young Elector’s envoy has arrived, and brought me a first missive from him.”

“Good news?” asked his son hurriedly.

“Yes, good news.  The Elector confirms me in all my offices and dignities.  I remain Stadtholder in the Mark, Director of the War Department—­in short, what I am, whence follows as a matter of course that the Elector Frederick remains what his father was—­my obedient servant.  My son, the power has not fallen from my hand, and your heritage remains.”

“I assure you, my gracious father, I have but little desire to enter upon this heritage of mine,” cried young Count Adolphus, shrugging his shoulders.  “May I long remain what I am now, the son of the Stadtholder in the Mark, the coadjutor of the Grand Master of the Order of St. John.”