"Long live our most gracious Sovereign! Long live George William!" cried Count Schwarzenberg, rising from his seat and holding the golden bumper aloft in his right hand. All the guests started from their seats, and joined in the shouts: "Long live our most gracious Sovereign! Long live George William!" And the golden goblets clashed against one another, and the trumpets and kettledrums chimed in with crashing peals. The Electoral Prince, too, would rise from his seat, but his head swam, all was whirls and turns before his eyes, and he sank back upon his chair. Gabriel Nietzel stooped over him. "How are you, gracious sir? Are you not well?" "Quite well as yet, Gabriel. Only give me a fresh glass of water and put some sugar in it." Gabriel Nietzel flew to the sideboard, and, while he filled a glass with water, his pale lips murmured, "Your evil genius bade you say that!" And while he shook into the glass the white pulverized sugar, which, by the way, he had not taken from the bowl standing on the sideboard, in the depths of his heart he whispered, "Rebecca, this I do for you!" He took up the tall tumbler and presented it to the Electoral Prince. Frederick William seized the glass and drank, in long draughts. It had done him good, his head was easy again, there was no longer such a fearful roaring in his ears. George William's countenance glowed and his eyes burned. He loved the pleasures of the table, and the wine was costly and had driven all ill humor from his heart. He now felt quite comfortable, quite happy, and bent friendly glances across upon his son, who was so splendid, so glorious to look upon, and the sight of whom, although he would probably not acknowledge it to himself, rejoiced his father's heart. Frederick William had just removed the great goblet from his lips, and placed it half full upon the table. The Elector saw it, the cold liquor looked inviting, and at the same time he would give his son a public token of his kindly disposition: all the guests must see how high in his favor stood the Electoral Prince. "You drink water, my son?" he asked. "That is wise and prudent, and deserves to be imitated at this table of reveling. I will follow your example, Frederick William. Hand your glass across the table to me, son." The Electoral Prince hastily rose from his seat, and tried to hand the glass to his father; but his hand trembled so violently that he could not hold the glass; it escaped from his hands, and fell with a crash upon the table.