g upon her
shoulders, and, while turning, struck against the proffered cup, which
fell to the floor. If a bomb had suddenly burst, it could not have
produced greater consternation. Baum picked up the fragments, and felt
so terribly unhappy, that he would gladly have prostrated himself; but
it would not do for him to speak or even ask pardon, for that would
have been a still more heinous breach of discipline. The queen turned
toward him and said:

"It was my fault, not yours."

She requested the ladies who had hurriedly left their seats, in order
to satisfy their curiosity and rectify the damage that had been done,
to be seated again. The lord steward beckoned Baum to approach, and
whispered him to withdraw and leave the rest to the other servants.

It required all the queen's power of self-command to preserve the
appearance of unconcern which etiquette demanded. Although her brain
whirled with contending emotions, she sat erect and smiling, while her
eyes followed the servant who was carrying away the broken fragments,
just as if he were bearing with him something else which had been
shattered forever.

Baum went out to the landing, and stood by the stair-rail. He felt as
if stunned, and was so ashamed of himself that he would gladly have
hurled himself down to the floor below. Such a thing had never happened
to him before. It would disgrace him for life, and, although the queen
had taken the blame upon herself, he would have to suffer for it all
the same. He looked at the fragments of the cup, and only wished that
he, too, had been dashed into pieces.

Order was speedily restored. Schnabelsdorf, who, in the new ministry,
held the position of foreign secretary and temporarily conducted the
department of education, proved himself a friend in need. With
consummate tact, he succeeded in engaging the company with subjects
that interested them, and thus restored their good-humor. Taking the
play of "Emilia Galotti," as an instance, he said that the names which
poets had assigned to their _dramatis personae_ would furnish the
subject of interesting investigations, or rather hypotheses. It was his
opinion that in naming his intriguant Marinelli, Lessing had intended
an allusion to Machiavelli, to whose character the last century had not
been able to do justice. The vowels were the same in both names; and
the name of Orsina reminded one of a dagger leaping from its sheath.
The full round O followed by the sharp I. He cont