ered Count Adam Schwarzenberg to himself.
"The Prince must have set out on his journey four weeks ago, and still no
news from Gabriel Nietzel! The journey by sea, it is true, offered no
opportunity for any enterprise, and the Electoral Prince had the sublime
fancy of choosing the water in preference to the land route, in spite of
the severities of this season of the year. But, according to the Prince's
scheme of traveling, and according to my own calculations, the Prince must
have reached Hamburg full eight days ago, and as he was only to stay there
three days, he must already have been journeying five days by land, and
yet have I in vain looked for any tidings whatever from Gabriel Nietzel.
Could it be possible that this man has dared to disobey me?--could he have
carried his folly so far as to sacrifice wife and child rather than
execute my commands?"

Gloomily the count's brow wrinkled, as he asked himself this question, and
his eyes flamed with fury. With folded arms he walked rapidly to and fro.

"To think that all my plans may be wrecked by the pangs of conscience of a
single fool!" he sighed--"to think, that for months, nay, for years, I
have been laboring in vain to see the realization of these projects, and
that in my highest, proudest aims I am dependent upon a blockhead,
who--What is it Daniel? What is your errand?"

"Pardon me, your excellency; some one is without who
desires most urgently to speak with you."

"Who is it?--do you know him?"

"No, my lord count, I do not know him, and he will not tell what he wants
of your excellency. He says he must speak with your lordship himself, and
I must only announce his name. It is Gabriel Nietzel."

"Gabriel Nietzel!" cried the count. "Why did you not tell me so directly,
you fool! Bring him in without delay, and take care that no one disturbs
us so long as the painter Gabriel Nietzel is with us."

The lackey hurried off, leaving the door open for the painter, whom he
fetched in from the first antechamber. Breathlessly, in violent
excitement, Count Schwarzenberg looked toward this open door. "It is my
future fate that is about to enter," he murmured. "Ah, there he is! There
is Gabriel Nietzel!" And in his vehement agitation he rushed forward a few
steps to meet the painter, whom he saw approaching through the entrance
hall. But forcibly constraining himself to an appearance of moderation and
reserve, he stood still and assumed a calm, unimpassioned expression.