"'To my dear son, the Electoral Prince Frederick William,'" read the count, with loud voice. "You see, I was not mistaken. It is the Electress's handwriting, and it is directed to the Electoral Prince." "And I have solemnly sworn to give it into no other hands than his," murmured the painter. "You shall keep your oath, Master Gabriel. Now go into the antechamber. My chamberlain awaits you there, and perhaps your fair Rebecca is also there already!" "But my letter, your excellency--shall I not have my letter again?" "Certainly, master, you shall have it again. In a half hour I shall come out myself and give it to you. Oh, fear nothing. The Prince will not suspect that any strange hand has touched it. Indeed, it concerns me very nearly that the Electoral Prince should put confidence in you, and be convinced of your honesty and good faith. Go now, master, I shall bring the secret epistle back to you unscathed, and put it again into your left breast pocket." When Master Gabriel Nietzel had crept out slowly and sorrowfully, the count hastened to his writing table, took up flint, tinder, and steel, and made the sparks fly until one fired the tinder and made it glow. Now he held a splinter of wood to the glowing tinder, and by its flame lighted the wax taper in the golden candlestick. Then he quickly fetched, from a secret drawer of his writing table, a small knife with a fine thin blade, heated this at the light, and carefully and adroitly slipped it under the great electoral seal, which he carefully detached from the letter. He laid it carefully upon a small marble slab, and opened the letter. It was a very long, confidential communication from the Electress to her beloved son. With closest attention the count read it twice, and then with great pains folded it up again.