“Can you imagine a more glorious queen?” he demanded, in a transport of ecstasy, flinging one arm over the vice-palatine’s shoulder, and pointing with the other toward the confused and blushing girl.  “Is there anywhere else on earth so much love, so much goodness and purity, a glance so benevolent—­all the virtues God bestows upon his favorites?  Is not this the angel who has been called to destroy the Leviathan of the Apocalypse?”

The vice-palatine gazed in perplexity at the young girl, then said in a low tone: 

“She is the image of the unfortunate Queen, Marie Antoinette, who looked just like that when she was a bride.”

Involuntarily Marie lifted her hands and hid her face behind them.  She had grown accustomed to the piercing rays of the sun, but not to the questioning glances from strange eyes.

“What—­what does—­this mean, Ludwig?” she stammered, in bewilderment.  “I don’t understand you.”

Count Vavel stepped to the opposite side of the room, where a large map concealed the wall.  He drew a cord, and the map rolled up, revealing a long hall-like chamber, which, large as it was, was filled to the ceiling with swords, firearms, saddles, and harness.

“I will equip a company of cavalry, and command it myself.  The entire equipment, to the last cartridge, is ready here.”

He conducted the vice-palatine into the arsenal, and exhibited his terrible treasures.

“Are you satisfied with my preparations for war?” he asked.

“I can only reply as did the poor little Saros farmer when his neighbor, a wealthy landowner, told him he expected to harvest two thousand yoke of wheat:  ‘That is not so bad.’”

“Now I intend to hold a Lustration, Herr Vice-palatine,” resumed the count.  “Here are weapons.  Are enough men and horses to be had for the asking?”

“I might answer as did the gypsy woman when her son asked for a piece of bread:  ‘You are always wanting what is not to be had.’”

“Do you mean that there are no men?”

“I mean,” hastily interposed Herr Bernat, “that there are enough men, and horses, too; but the treasure-chest is empty, and the Aerar has not yet sent the promised subsidy.”

“What care I about the Aerar and its money!” ejaculated Count Vavel, contemptuously. “I will supply the funds necessary to equip a company—­and support them, into the bargain!  And if the county needs money, my purse-strings are loose!  I give everything that belongs to me—­and myself, too—­to this cause!”

He opened, as he spoke, a large iron chest that was fastened with iron bolts to the floor.

“Here, help yourself, Herr Vice-palatine!” he added, waving his hand toward the contents of the chest.  It was a more wonderful sight than the arsenal itself.  Rolls of gold coin, sacks of silver, filled the chest to the brim.

Herr Bernat could only stare in speechless amazement.  He made no move to obey the behest to “help himself,” whereupon Count Vavel himself thrust his hands into the chest, lifted what he could hold between them of gold and silver, and filled the vice-palatine’s hat, which that worthy was holding in his hand.