Marie blushed at her husband’s selfishness. ‘It is old, indeed,’ said she, ‘but it is large and stout. There is nothing splendid about it, Waldau; it is simple and useful, like its former possessor; and I beseech you, when you shall see our brother Maurice, give it to him in my name. It may be useful to him, notwithstanding its homely appearance; at all events, while it must recall to Maurice’s recollection the memory of his father, it may also bring him wise reflections.’ She bids him also tell Maurice how much she feels for him, and regrets that she is unable to offer him any assistance. Waldau wraps himself in the cloak, and proceeds to Felsenbourg, which he reaches, but not without being overturned on the road. He is rather hurt by the fall, but not so much as to prevent his repairing immediately to find Maurice. The evening was somewhat advanced, and the streets of the city, very different from those of the obscure but peaceful town in which Waldau dwelt, were crowded still with passengers on horseback and on foot. Waldau observed directly before him a portico well lighted, over which he saw inscribed, in large characters, “The Palace of Felsenbourg.” He entered with some timidity, and looked around for some one who might direct him in this vast building, when a young man, passing close by him, attracted his attention. He was clothed in a court dress, glittering with embroidery, and held in his hand the hat of a noble, adorned with large white plumes. The old town-clerk drew himself up hastily, but who can describe his surprise when he saw, in the half glance which his awe permitted him to cast upon this person, that he was the banished son, his early friend; in short, Maurice himself? Waldau was petrified with astonishment: could he believe his eyes, or did they abuse him? He wished to speak, but the words died upon his lips; all that he could do was to follow with his eyes this unexpected figure. When he recovered the use of his faculties, the object who had deprived him of them, was no longer before him; but he saw him as he withdrew beneath the shadows of the columns, by the splendour of his garments, the gems on which glittered beneath the lamps which filled the vault. A little man dressed in black now approached, and dispelled the ideas which were bewildering his brain. ‘Will you be so obliging,’ he said to this person, ‘as to tell me the name of the gentleman who passed us just now?’ ‘It is Mr. Wiesel.’ ‘It is Maurice, then! Good heavens! but tell me what part does he play here?’ ‘A very important part, Sir: nothing less than that of the prince’s confidant,’ replied the little man, gravely, and with a low bow.