tzel, heaving a
deep sigh. "I know a subject for the painting you have ordered, and will
make a sketch of it. You shall not have to wait long for it."

"It is a fine subject," said Schwarzenberg quietly. "We might call it the
murder of Julius Caesar."

"No, it is the execution of the Emperor Conrad III--the execution and
murder of the last Hohen-Hohenstaufen," sobbed the painter, while tears
fell in clear streams from his eyes.

"I believe another paroxysm of insanity has seized you," said the count
contemptuously. "How can any one weep merely because he will represent a
tragic scene? What is the last of the Hohenstaufens to you? You depict his
death, and if the painting is a success I shall reward you handsomely for
it, give you a splendid income, and then you can go to Italy, the home of
all artists, to spend the remainder of your life there in pleasure and
freedom."

"It shall be just as your excellency says," sighed Gabriel. "Only, your
excellency, only be so gracious as to give me back my wife and child."

"I said so, your paroxysm of madness is coming on afresh!" cried
Schwarzenberg, shrugging his shoulders. "Man, are you really beside
yourself?--have you lost your senses? Do you demand your wife and child of
me, of Count Adam von Schwarzenberg, the Stadtholder in the Mark? Go away
with your follies. Be off, so that you can make your sketch, and when you
come back, and it is good, you will perhaps find me inclined to answer all
your silly questions for you!"

"Sir Count, oh, for God's sake, let me at least see my Rebecca once more!"

"Rebecca! your wife's name is Rebecca? Why, that really sounds as if she
were a Jewess. And you say that she is your wife? Ah, repeat that again,
then name the priest who celebrated your nuptials and united a Christian
to a Jewess! By ----! I shall bring this evildoer to a strict account, and
he shall be degraded from his office as a criminal and blot upon the
Church, for he has sinned against God, the Church, and his Sovereign!
Gabriel Nietzel, name the priest who married you to a Jewess!"

"I can not name him," murmured Nietzel, almost inaudibly. "Sir Count, I
will be obedient and diligent in your service. I am a wretched sinner, and
must expiate my crime. I shall do penance, too, and will be nothing more
than a tool in your hands. Only have mercy upon me. Let me at least see my
wife and child, if I may not speak to them! I only wish to see them, in
order to gain courage and