Suddenly there was a fanfare of trumpets, and instant silence smote the assembly. First came officers of the Imperial Guard in shining armour, then the immediate advisers and councillors of his Majesty, and last of all, the Emperor himself, a robe of great richness clasped at his throat, and trailing behind him; the crown of the Empire upon his head. His face was pale and stern, and he looked what he was, a monarch, and a man. The Count rubbed his eyes, and could scarcely believe that he stood now in the presence of one who had chatted amiably with him but a few moments before. The Emperor sat on his throne and one of his councillors whispered for some moments to him; then the Emperor said, in a low, clear voice, that penetrated to the farthest corner of the vast apartment: “Is the Count of Winneburg here?” “Yes, your Majesty.” “Let him stand forward.” The Count strode two long steps to the front, and stood there, red-faced and abashed. The officer at his side whispered: “Kneel, you fool, kneel.” And the Count got himself somewhat clumsily down upon his knees, like an elephant preparing to receive his burden. The face of the Emperor remained impassive, and he said harshly: “Stand up.” The Count, once more upon his feet, breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction at finding himself again in an upright posture. “Count of Winneburg,” said the Emperor slowly, “it is alleged that upon the occasion of the last meeting of the Council of State for the Moselle valley, you, in presence of the nobles there assembled, cast a slight upon your over-lord, the Archbishop of Treves. Do you question the statement?” The Count cleared his throat several times, which in the stillness of that vaulted room sounded like the distant booming of cannon. “If to cast the Archbishop half the distance of this room is to cast a slight upon him, I did so, your Majesty.” There was a simultaneous ripple of laughter at this, instantly suppressed when the searching eye of the Emperor swept the room. “Sir Count,” said the Emperor severely, “the particulars of your outrage are not required of you; only your admission thereof. Hear, then, my commands. Betake yourself to your castle of Winneburg, and hold yourself there in readiness to proceed to Treves on a day appointed by his Lordship the Archbishop, an Elector of this Empire, there to humble yourself before him, and crave his pardon for the offence you have committed. Disobey at your peril.” Once or twice the Count moistened his dry lips, then he said: “Your Majesty, I will obey any command you place upon me.” “In that case,” continued the Emperor, his severity visibly relaxing, “I can promise that your over-lord will not hold this incident against you. Such, I understand, is your intention, my Lord Archbishop?” and the Emperor turned toward the Prince of Treves.