“Put on your hat, and come up,” said the Elector.  “It is cold down there.”

“Only permit me first, most gracious sir, to do a little act of justice,” cried Schwarzenberg, turning with a pleasant smile to the electoral coachman, who stared at him with sullen mien.

“Fritz Long,” he said, with amiable condescension—­“Fritz Long, you have acted as became a brave and trusty electoral coachman.  You are perfectly right; you must never drive out of the way, even should the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire himself come to visit the Elector.  In recognition of your honesty and truth, accept this present from me.”

And the count drew from the side pocket of his richly embroidered vest two gold pieces, and laid them in the immense hand, gloved in a dirty, yellow gauntlet, which the Elector’s joyfully surprised state coachman reached out to him.  The count again nodded affably to him, and passed through the palace portal.  “I hope,” he said to himself, while he slowly ascended the broad wooden stairs—­“I hope that in the next riot my fellows will properly punish the shameless rascal, and take out the two gold coins I have given him in little pieces on his broad back.”

The Elector advanced as far as the antechamber to meet his beloved minister, and opened the door himself.  “Listen, Schwarzenberg,” he said, with a smile; “you are such a capital man.  You know how to help in all emergencies, and even when they drive you into the deepest mud you know how to come forth dry-shod and clean.”

“Well, I may indeed have learned something of diplomacy and strategy at the electoral court,” answered the minister, at the same time offering the support of his shoulder to assist the Elector in returning to his cabinet.  “Your grace has summoned me, and I feared lest intelligence of a disquieting nature had reached your highness, the—­”

“Very disquieting intelligence, indeed,” sighed the Elector, as he sank down groaning into his leather armchair.  “But I suppose you know it already.  Schlieben is back, and our son comes not with him; he only writes us a lamentable letter, in which he explains that he can not come home at this season of the year, and in the present conjunction of the times.”

“But that is rebellion!” exclaimed Schwarzenberg warmly; “that is putting himself in downright opposition to his Sovereign and his father!”

“You look upon it in that light too, then, Schwarzenberg?” asked George William.  “You agree with me that the Electoral Prince has acted like a disobedient son and disrespectful subject?”

“Oh, my God!” sighed Schwarzenberg; “would that I could not agree with your highness!  Would that an excuse might be found for this conduct of the Electoral Prince!  It is painful to see how boldly the young gentleman dares to resist the supremacy of his father.”

“It is rebellion, is it not?” asked George, his excitement waxing continually.  “We send our own Chamberlain Schlieben to The Hague; we write our son a letter with our own hand, enjoining him to return home; we, moreover, inform him verbally through Schlieben of the urgent necessity of his return, and still our son insists that he will remain at The Hague, and has the spirit to send Schlieben home without accompanying him.”