At length, on the evening of Easter day, he could contain himself no longer, and put a direct question to the old knight, asking him if their affairs were in danger, what was the state of the Duke's plans, and whether his services would not be called into action soon? But his patron, taking him kindly by the hand, answered, "I have long remarked, that your heart is ready to burst with impatience in consequence of your being denied a share in our labours and cares; but only have a little more patience; perhaps one day longer may decide many important subjects. What is the use of tormenting you with the uncertain intelligence which our messengers have lately brought? Your ardent young mind is not fitted to unmask intrigue, or to counteract artifice. When the crisis approaches upon which we can base our plans with safety, believe me you shall be a welcome member in council and action. All you need know at present is, that our circumstances are neither good nor bad, but that we shall soon be obliged to act with increased decision." Albert gave the old man due credit for his reserve, but still he was anything but satisfied with his answer. He could not even learn the name of the exile, of whom Bertha had inquired the night preceding, when he came to the castle as usual, if he would allow her to make him known to their guest, but the only answer he gave was, "The proper moment is not yet arrived." There was still another circumstance which offended Albert's _amour propre_. He had often made known to the knight of Lichtenstein the intense interest he took in the welfare of the exile, and what heartfelt pleasure it would give him to cultivate his further acquaintance; nevertheless, he had never once been invited to join the nocturnal visit of the mysterious guest. He was too proud to press the subject; he waited night after night in the expectation of being called in to speak to the man, but he waited in vain. He resolved therefore to see the stranger some night without an invitation, and for this purpose he sought a fitting opportunity. His room, which he was obliged to enter every night regularly at eight o'clock, overlooked the valley below, and was situated immediately opposite to the side on which the bridge was placed. It was therefore out of the question to see him coming from this position. The large room on the second floor, which was not far from his own, was locked every night, and consequently debarred him from satisfying his curiosity from thence. On the landing place, to which the doors of the different rooms led, there were indeed two windows looking towards the bridge, but as they were grated and stood high, the view from them was confined to the distant country, and there was no possibility of obtaining a sight of the desired spot. Nothing was left for him, therefore, than to conceal himself somewhere in order to gratify his curiosity. On the first floor the plan was