Lupinus remained speechless, only the heaving of his breast betrayed his excitement.  Eckhof had compassion on the evident embarrassment of the young student, and approaching him laid his hand gently on his shoulder.  Lupinus trembled and grew pale under Eckhof’s gentle, sympathetic glance.

“Do you wish really to become an actor?” questioned Eckhof.

“Yes,” he replied in a low voice, “I have long wished it, I have struggled with this wish, and thought I had overcome it; but the struggle has been in vain; in vain have I buried myself in books and studies.  I will keep up this internal strife no longer, but will follow the inclinations of my heart, which lead me to you.  In this new life I shall be happy and contented; and this I can only hope to be, in giving my life to poetry and art.”

“Ah, he speaks and thinks as I did,” said Eckhof to him self; then turning to Lupinus, he said:  “You wish to be an actor; that means, you desire a life of shame and humiliation.  No one shall become an actor if I can prevent it.  Do you know, young man, that, to become an actor, means to have the whole world, and perhaps even God, arrayed against you?”

“You are unjust, Eckhof,” cried Fredersdorf—­“unjust to yourself and to the world.  You scorn your own triumph, and those who prepared that triumph for you.”

“You are right so far, my friend,” replied Eckhof sadly.  “But is it not also true that we are persecuted and driven forth?  Has it not been proved that for an actor there is no law, no justice?”

“Who knows,” said Fredersdorf, smiling, “that we may not still triumph over these miserable conspirators?”

“Are you aware that the theatre has been closed, and our representations forbidden until the decision of the General Assembly, with regard to the late disturbance in the theatre, shall be known?”

“The General Assembly will order the theatre to be opened, and our representations to recommence.”

Eckhof heard this with a cutting, derisive laugh.  “Dear friend, such an order would render justice to the scorned and oppressed on earth!”

“And they will receive justice; but it must be sought in the right place.”

“Where is that place?”

“Where the king is.”

“Ah! the king!  That may be true in your case, because your brother is his private secretary, but it is not true for me—­not true for the German actor.”

“Eckhof, you are again unjust.  The king is too noble, too free from prejudice, to be deceived by the dust with which these learned professors have sought to blind him.  The king knows that they occasioned the late disturbance in the theatre.”

“Who has told you that?”

“The king himself.”

“You have seen the king?”

“I have.  I hope you will allow now, that it is not a good thing for me only that my brother is private secretary to the king.  I have seen his majesty, and I informed him of this wretched intrigue of the professors.  He might not have put entire faith in the accounts of the actor, Joseph Fredersdorf, but I was accompanied by a responsible witness, who confirmed my words.”