In a neighbouring room, called the "Free Audience Room," Klaus Heinrich, in his tunic with silver collar and several stars, stood at a round table with three golden legs, and received. Major von Platow gave him some superficial information about the identity of each petitioner, called the man in, and came back in the pauses, to prompt the Prince in a few words about the next comer. And the citizen walked in; with the blood in his head and perspiring slightly he stood before Klaus Heinrich. It had been impressed on him that he was not to go too near his Royal Highness, but must keep at a certain distance, that he must not speak without being spoken to, and even then must not gabble off all he had to say, but answer concisely, so as to leave the Prince material for his questions; that he must at the conclusion withdraw backwards and without showing the Prince his backside. The result was that the citizen's whole attention was centred on not breaking any of the rules given him, but for his part contributing to the smooth and harmonious progress of the interview. Klaus Heinrich questioned him in the same way as he was wont to question the veterans, the marksmen, the gymnasts, the countrymen, and the victims of the fire, smiling, and with his left hand planted well back on his hip; and the citizen too smiled involuntarily--and was imbued with a feeling as if that smile lifted him far above the troubles which had held him prisoner. That common man, whose spirit otherwise cleaved to the dust, who gave a thought to nothing, not even to everyday politeness, beyond what was purely utilitarian, and had come here too with a definite object in view--he felt in his heart that there was something higher than business and his business in particular, and he left the Schloss elevated, purified, with eyes dim with emotion and the smile still on his flushed face. That was the way in which Klaus Heinrich gave free audiences, that the way in which he exercised his exalted calling. He lived at the "Hermitage" in his little refuge, the Empire room, which was furnished so stiffly and meagrely, with cool indifference to comfort and intimacy. Faded silk covered the walls above the white wainscot, glass chandeliers hung from the ugly ceiling, straight-lined sofas, mostly without tables, and thin-legged stands supporting marble clocks, stood along the walls, pairs of white-lacquered chairs, with oval backs and thin silk upholstery, flanked the white-lacquered folding-doors, and in the corner stood white-lacquered loo-tables, bearing vase-like candelabra. That was how Klaus Heinrich's room looked, and its master harmonized well with it.