guard my wife and child!"

He bowed low and reverentially, then strode hastily toward the door.

"Gabriel Nietzel, one word more!" called out the count, as the painter
stood with his hand already upon the door knob. He turned and slowly came
back. "Master Gabriel Nietzel," continued the count, with a mocking laugh,
"be so good as to give me the Electress's letter."

The painter drew forth his leather pocketbook, took out the open letter of
recommendation, and handed it to the count.

But the latter smilingly rejected it. "You may keep that, master; I have
already read that. The other, the second missive from the Electress, you
must give me."

Gabriel Nietzel shrank back, and gazed into the count's large, glittering
eyes.

"The other writing," he murmured, "the second writing?"

"Why, yes, master, that secret writing, which you have naturally promised
to shield with the last drop of your blood, and to hand inviolate into the
hands of the Electoral Prince. My God! we know how often such oaths are
made, and that hardly one has ever been kept. You have not been made court
painter for nothing, with your salary of fifty dollars, free rent, and two
suits of clothes. You must give something in return. Give me that second
writing of the Electress, the one which you have sworn to hand only to the
Electoral Prince; or rather, no, you shall not forswear yourself. Just
tell me where you have stuck it, and I shall take it for myself."

"Your excellency, it sticks in my left breast pocket," whispered Gabriel
Nietzel. The count laughed aloud, and with one movement drew forth from
Master Gabriel's left breast pocket a small packet, wound round with
silken strings. With cautious hand, extremely solicitous not to break the
string, he untied it, and took out the paper found beneath. Within this,
indeed, lay a small, well-sealed letter.

"'To my dear son, the Electoral Prince Frederick William,'" read the
count, with loud voice. "You see, I was not mistaken. It is the
Electress's handwriting, and it is directed to the Electoral Prince."

"And I have solemnly sworn to give it into no other hands than his,"
murmured the painter.

"You shall keep your oath, Master Gabriel. Now go into the antechamber. My
chamberlain awaits you there, and perhaps your fair Rebecca is also there
already!"

"But my letter, your excellency--shall I not have my letter again?"

"Certainly, master, you shall have it again. In a half hour I shall come