“And now, friend, the police may act promptly and rigorously; Fredersdorf will not be there, and I shall not find it necessary to punish him further.  Alas! how difficult it is to turn a fool from his folly!  Fredersdorf would learn to make gold through the sacrifice of a black ram; in order to do this, he joins himself to my adversaries, to the hypocrites and pietists; he goes to the so-called prayer-meetings of the godless, who call themselves, forsooth, the children of God!  Ah!  Jordan, how selfish, how pitiful is this small race of man! how little do they merit!  I took Fredersdorf from obscurity and poverty.  I not only took him into my service, I made him my confidant and my friend—­I loved him sincerely.  And what is my reward?  He is ungrateful, and he hates me with a perfect hatred; he is now sitting in his room and cursing his king, who has done nothing more than protect him from the withering ridicule which his childish and mad pursuit was about to bring upon him.  Jordan, Jordan! kings are always repaid with ingratitude.”

“Yes, sire; and God, our heavenly Father, meets with the same reward,” said Jordan, with a painful smile.  “God and the king are the two powers most misunderstood.  In their bright radiance they stand too high above the sons of men:  they demand of the king that he shall be all-wise, almighty, even as God is; they require of God that He shall judge and act as weak, short-sighted men do, not ‘knowing the end from the beginning.’”

The king did not reply; with his arms folded, he walked thoughtfully through the room.

“Poor Fredersdorf,” said he, softly, “I have slain his hobby-horse, and that is always an unpardonable offence to any man.  I might, perhaps, have closed my eyes to the mad follies of these so-called pietists, if they had not drawn my poor secretary into the toils.  For his sake I will give them a lesson.  I will force him to see that they are hypocrites and charlatans.  Happen what will, I have saved Fredersdorf from ridicule; if he curses me for this, I can bear it cheerfully.”

The king was right; Fredersdorf was insane with passion.  He cursed the king, not only in his heart, but with his trembling lips; he called him a tyrant, a heartless egotist.  He hated him, even as an ignorant, unreasoning child hates the kind hand which corrects and restrains.

“They will discover this mystery; they will learn how to make gold, and I shall not be there,” murmured Fredersdorf, gnashing his teeth; “who knows? perhaps they will not divulge to me this costly receipt!  They will lie to me and deceive me.  Ah! the moon is rising; she casts her pure, silver rays into this hated room, now become my prison.  Now, even now, they are assembling; now the holy incantation begins, and I—­I am not there!  “He tore his hair, and beat his breast, and cried aloud.