Gloomily the count's brow wrinkled, as he asked himself this question, and his eyes flamed with fury. With folded arms he walked rapidly to and fro. "To think that all my plans may be wrecked by the pangs of conscience of a single fool!" he sighed--"to think, that for months, nay, for years, I have been laboring in vain to see the realization of these projects, and that in my highest, proudest aims I am dependent upon a blockhead, who--What is it Daniel? What is your errand?" "Pardon me, your excellency; some one is without who desires most urgently to speak with you." "Who is it?--do you know him?" "No, my lord count, I do not know him, and he will not tell what he wants of your excellency. He says he must speak with your lordship himself, and I must only announce his name. It is Gabriel Nietzel." "Gabriel Nietzel!" cried the count. "Why did you not tell me so directly, you fool! Bring him in without delay, and take care that no one disturbs us so long as the painter Gabriel Nietzel is with us." The lackey hurried off, leaving the door open for the painter, whom he fetched in from the first antechamber. Breathlessly, in violent excitement, Count Schwarzenberg looked toward this open door. "It is my future fate that is about to enter," he murmured. "Ah, there he is! There is Gabriel Nietzel!" And in his vehement agitation he rushed forward a few steps to meet the painter, whom he saw approaching through the entrance hall. But forcibly constraining himself to an appearance of moderation and reserve, he stood still and assumed a calm, unimpassioned expression. Gabriel Nietzel entered, and behind him the lackey gently closed the door. The sharp eyes of the count rested inquiringly upon the newcomer, who remained standing near the door with head sunk and humble, melancholy mien. This submissive, contrite silence on the part of the returning painter was sufficiently eloquent to the mind of the count. It told him that Gabriel Nietzel had nothing welcome to communicate. He subdued his rage and proudly threw back his head, as if to shake off, like troublesome insects, all his disappointed hopes. "Well, you are actually at home again, Master Court Painter!" he cried, in a tone that was well-nigh cheerful. "Yes, your excellency," whispered Gabriel, with downcast eyes, "here I am again, and report myself forthwith to your excellency." "To me?" asked Schwarzenberg, affecting astonishment. "Why do you report yourself to me, and what have I to do with you, Sir Court Painter Gabriel Nietzel? You should have gone to the palace, to the Electress, and gladdened her heart with your pleasing intelligence. I doubt not that you are the bearer of glad tidings for her, and come to forewarn her of the Prince's speedy arrival here in safety and good health?"