strength for my difficult and dangerous
undertaking."

The count reflected for a moment, his eyes fastened upon Gabriel Nietzel's
countenance, whose imploring, anxious expression seemed to touch him.

"I have in my house at Spandow," he said, after a long pause, "a beautiful
painting by Albrecht Duerer. It was, unfortunately, a little injured in the
transportation, and you shall restore it for me. To-morrow morning repair
to Spandow, and ask for me. I shall be there, and will myself put the
painting in your charge. Perhaps you will see there another painting
besides, which will please you, and which, perhaps, is not unknown to
you."

Gabriel Nietzel took the count's proffered hand, and with joyful
impatience pressed it to his lips. "Sir Count, I will be your servant,
your slave, your creature. I will damn my soul for you and suffer the
torture of perpetual flames if you will only give back to me my wife and
child!"

"Master Court Painter," said Schwarzenberg, parodying his words, "I shall
make you a rich and distinguished man. I shall send you to Italy, and you
will enjoy the heavenly fires of the Italian sky, if you will only bring
me the sketch ordered, and prove to me that you are in earnest as to its
execution."

Gabriel Nietzel laughed aloud in the joy of his heart.

"Your highness shall not have long to wait. I will very soon have the
sketch at your excellency's disposal."

"We shall see," said the count, with a slight nod of his head. "And now
that we have understood one another, and you have somewhat recovered your
reason, now for the last time I tell you, you are dismissed!"

Gabriel Nietzel bowed low, and strode through the apartment toward the
door of entrance, reverentially going backward that he might not turn his
back upon the high-born, all-powerful count. He had almost reached the
door, when it was opened and a valet appeared, who announced in a loud
voice:

"His honor Count John Adolphus von Schwarzenberg!"

"My son!" exclaimed the count. "He has returned? Where is he? Where?"

"His honor has just gone to his apartments to divest himself of his
traveling clothes, but with your highness's permission he will be here in
a few minutes."

"Tell the count, that I expect him with impatience," cried the father. The
valet hurried out, and Gabriel Nietzel was in the act of following him,
when Schwarzenberg called him back.

"Do not go out that way now," he said; "my son is coming, and it is not