He repaired to his dressing room, where his valets arrayed him in the magnificent habit of a Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, and upon his breast shone the cross of the order set with sparkling brilliants.  Having completed his toilet, he went to the great mirror and, casting a cursory glance therein, said to himself with some satisfaction that his person was still stately and distinguished, well suited to a reigning prince and fitted for wearing a crown!  This thought lighted up his countenance with joyful pride, and with high head he returned to his cabinet.  Chamberlain von Lehndorf entered, to inform his most noble master that the guests were already assembled in the great reception room, and longingly awaited his appearance.  The chamberlain handed the count his ermine-tipped velvet cap, with its long white ostrich plumes, and then flew before to open for him the doors leading to the small antechamber, where were assembled all the officers of the count’s household, waiting to follow their master into the hall.

Lehndorf stood at the door of the antechamber, and the Stadtholder smiled upon him as he passed.

“No letters and dispatches from my son at Regensburg, Lehndorf?”

“None, most gracious sir.”

“If a courier comes, let me know of it without delay,” continued the count, moving forward.  “Anything else new, Lehndorf?”

“Nothing new, your excellency.”

“What noise was that just now in the antechamber, while the commandants were in my cabinet?”

“Most gracious sir, an insolent soldier—­one of those Saxons who marched in yesterday—­forced himself into the antechamber, and with real importunity begged to speak to your excellency.”

“Why did you not bid him wait until the gentlemen had, gone, and then announce him?”

“He would not consent to wait by any means, and with brazen face demanded to see your excellency on the spot.  The fellow was drunk, it was plain to see, and in his intoxication:  kept crying out that he must talk with your excellency about an important secret; if you would not admit him directly, he would go to Prussia and tell your secret to the Elector, which would bring your honor to the scaffold.  It was positively ridiculous to hear the fellow talk, and the lackeys, instead of getting angry, laughed outright at him, which only enraged him the more; he worked his arms and legs like a jumping jack and made faces like a nut-cracker.  However, when he again presumed to abuse your grace, our people made short work of the drunken knave, and thrust him out of doors.”

“Well, I hope his airing will do him good,” said the count, smiling, “and that he came to his senses on the street.”

“It seems not, though,” replied Chamberlain von Lehndorf, making a signal to the halberdiers stationed on both sides of the doors of the grand reception hall that they should open the door—­“no, it seems that the airing did the drunken soldier no good.  For, only think, gracious sir, just now, as I passed through the front entry to get to your apartments, there the man stood, and as soon as he saw me he sprang at me, seized my arm, and whispered:  ’Chamberlain von Lehndorf, I must speak to the Stadtholder.  Only tell him my name, and I know that he will receive me.’”