deeds like an innocent child. But you shall prove to me by deeds that
you are in earnest about making amends for your crime against _me_, the
world, the laws, and the Church. Only when you have done the right thing
shall you again obtain your beloved and your child, and may depart
unhindered from this country. Mark that, Master Nietzel; and now come.
Follow me to my picture gallery."

He nodded smilingly to the painter, and led the way out of the cabinet and
through a suite of magnificent apartments. At the end of these they
entered a spacious, lofty hall, whose walls were hung with great paintings.

"This is my picture gallery," said the count on entering; "now look and be
silent!"

Gabriel Nietzel remained standing near the door, and leaned against one of
its pillars. He could proceed no farther, his knees shook so, and all the
blood in his body seemed to concentrate in head and heart. He shut his
eyes, for it seemed to him that he must expire that very moment. But
finally, by a mighty effort of will, he conquered this passionate emotion,
slowly opened his eyes, and ventured to cast a weary, wandering glance
through the hall. How wonderfully solemn this broad, handsome room seemed
to him, and how devout and prayerful was his mind! A mild, clear light
fell from the glass cupola above, which alone illuminated the hall, and
displayed the pictures on the walls to the best advantage. In the middle
of the room, beside the splendid porphyry vase standing there upon its
gilded pedestal, leaned the tall, athletic form of Count Schwarzenberg,
casting a long, dark shadow upon the shining surface of the inlaid floor.
Gabriel Nietzel saw all this, and yet he felt as if he were dreaming, and
that all would vanish so soon as he should venture to move or step
forward. The count's voice aroused him from his stupefaction.

"Now, Master Nietzel, come here, for from this point you can best survey
the pictures, and judge of their merits."

Nietzel advanced with long strides, breathless from expectation, blissful
in hope. Now he stood at the count's side, and lifted his eyes to the
pictures. With one rapid glance he swept the whole wall. Paintings,
beautiful, costly paintings, but what cared he for _them_? Glorious in the
pomp of coloring, and perfect in their truth to nature, they looked down
upon him out of their broad gilt frames, but he had no senses for _them_.
His eyes fastened again and again upon that broad, massive gold frame