“Hurrah!  Long live Count Schwarzenberg!” sounded below his windows.  “Long live the Stadtholder in the Mark!”

“That shout costs me six hundred dollars,” said he, shrugging his shoulders.  “To-morrow, most likely the mob will come again to threaten me, that I may again purchase a cheer from them.  Well, for the present at least I have rest.  Nobody shall disturb me.  Nobody shall intrude upon me.”

He stepped to the doors leading into his sleeping room and antechamber, and bolted them both.  He did not think of the secret door which led to the little corridor and thence to the private staircase, and did not bolt that.  Why should he have done so?  The steps were so little used, so few knew of them, so few, of the existence of the little side door which led to them.  It was not necessary to lock that door, for no one would come to him in that way.

He was alone, God be praised, quite alone!  And now again he remembered the important letter, which he had forgotten while the soldiers’ riot was in progress.  There lay his son’s letter, on his writing table.  He hastened thither and seated himself in the armchair, taking up the letter and examining its address.  The sight of his son’s handwriting rejoiced his heart, as a greeting from afar.

He drew a deep sigh of relief.  All anguish, all cares had left him as soon as he took his son’s letter in his hand.  Even the warning voice in his heart had hushed, even the Fury no longer stood behind his chair; he no longer heard her death cry.  All was silent in that spacious apartment behind him, on which he turned his back.

He took the letter, broke the seal, and slowly unfolded the paper.  But now he put off reading its contents for one moment more.  This sheet of paper contained the decision of his whole future, it would either exalt him into a reigning prince by bringing him the Emperor’s sanction, or lower him into an underling of the Elector, making him a nobody, if—­But no, it was impossible!  The Emperor would not disavow him!  It was folly to think of such a thing!

He fixed his eyes on the paper and began to read.  But as he read, his breath came ever quicker, his cheeks became more pale, his brow more clouded.  His hands began to tremble so violently that the paper which they held rattled and shook, and finally dropped on the table.

Motionless and gasping for breath the count sat there, staring at the letter.  Then its contents flashed through him like a sudden shock, and, collecting his faculties, he once more snatched up the paper.

“It is impossible!” he cried aloud, “I read falsely!  That can not be!  My eyes surely deceived me!  My ears shall lend their evidence!  I will hear my sentence of condemnation!”