“I will tell you why, Chamberlain von Lehndorf,” replied Herr von Lastrow, leaping up and confronting the chamberlain in his gay uniform, with dagger dangling at his side—­“I will tell you why I did not accept the Stadtholder’s toast, and may all his guests hear and ponder.  I thank you, Sir Chamberlain, for affording me an opportunity of expressing myself openly and candidly on this subject.  Permit me, gentlemen, to answer in the hearing of you all the question which the chamberlain has addressed to me.”

As the counselor thus spoke his large black eyes surveyed both sides of the long table.  All present were silenced, all eyes were directed to the lower end of the table, and each one listened with strained attention to hear the answer of Herr von Lastrow.

Count Schwarzenberg had risen from his chair and given the rash chamberlain a look of displeasure.  Yet he felt so embarrassed by his own anxiety that he dared not call him.

“Gabriel Nietzel!  Gabriel Nietzel!” rang ever in his ears, frightening away all other sounds, until they seemed to reach him only as dim and hollow echoes from afar.

“Gentlemen!” cried Herr von Lastrow now, in a loud voice, “I did not drink the Stadtholder’s toast because it would have been contrary to my duty and my oath.  Ferdinand is Emperor of the German Empire, and as such we owe him reverence and respect, but when the toast styles him our lord and Emperor I can not respond to it, for Ferdinand is not my lord!  No, the Elector Frederick William is my master, and now I lift my glass and cry, ’Long live Frederick William, our lord and Elector!’”

“Long live Frederick, our lord and Elector!” shouted voices here and there at the table, and all followers of the Elector sprang from their seats, held aloft their glasses, and shouted again and again, “Long live Frederick William, our lord and Elector!”

“Strike up, musicians!” called Herr von Lastrow to the balcony, where the musicians sat, who lifted their trombones and trumpets and put them to their lips.  But before a note was struck, Lehndorf shouted fiercely up to them:  “Silence!  Dare not to blow a single blast!  I forbid you in the name of our master, the Emperor!”

A wild yell of indignation from the Electoralists and a loud burst of applause from the Imperialists followed these words.  Nobody remembered any longer that he was there as the guest of Schwarzenberg, the proud count and Stadtholder.  All prudence, all sense of respect was swallowed up in the storms of political passion.  With threatening aspect and flashing eyes stood the Electoralists and Imperialists opposite each other, and, while the former lifted up their glasses, to touch them in honor of their Sovereign and Elector, the latter knocked their glasses tumultuously on the table, and broke out into loud laughter and deafening imprecations.  No one any longer paid honor to the master of the house—­no one thought of him, in fact.  He had risen from