The assembly seemed taken by surprise. There was but little clapping of hands, and few bravos were heard.
Count Eberhard was quite taken aback by this cold reception, and looked about him in astonishment. The burgomaster whispered to him that this was a sure sign of victory, and that the enemy was confounded. Eberhard merely nodded. A strange feeling of embarrassment arose within him. He repressed it, and mounted the speaker's stand. With every step, he gained in courage and became more fully persuaded that it was his duty to defend the new trust without regard to thought of self. He began his speech by giving an account of his past life and struggles, adding, with a smile, that there were many present who, like himself, had gray hairs, and that there was no need of telling them what he desired. He was glad, however, to find that, there were so many younger men present. They listened with considerable patience. Among the opposition there was, now and then, loud talking, which was, however, soon silenced. Eberhard went on speaking. Suddenly loud peals of laughter resounded through the assembly, and the words "left-handed father-in-law" were heard. Eberhard did not know what it meant, and went on with his remarks. The talking in the crowd grew louder. Drops of cold sweat stood on his brow. The burgomaster mounted the stand and exclaimed: "Whoever isn't willing to listen to a man like Count Eberhard, doesn't deserve to have a vote."
Breathless silence ensued. Eberhard concluded with the words:
"I am proud enough to tell you that I don't ask you for your votes. I simply say that I accept the nomination."
He left the assembly, but, before doing so, begged his friends to remain. He rode home, filled with the thought that he had separated himself from the world, instead of having conquered it.
He alighted as soon as he came to his own land in the valley, and gave orders to some of the laborers. When he returned to the road, he met the postman, who handed him several letters. Eberhard opened the first and read:
"Your daughter has fallen into disgrace, and yet stands in high grace as the mistress of the king. To her the country owes the restoration of the ecclesiastical ministry. If you still doubt, ask the first person you meet in the streets of the capital. Unhappy father of a happy daughter." It was signed "The Public Voice."
Eberhard tore up the letter and gave the shreds to the winds, which carried them far away over the fields.
"Anonymous letters," said he, "are the meanest things conceivable. They are far lower than cowardly assassination, and yet--" It seemed as if the breeze which carried the shreds away had now returned, laden with the expression that he had heard at the meeting. Had they not said "left-handed father-in-law"?
Eberhard pressed his hand to his brow--the thought was like a burning arrow piercing his brain. He opened the second letter and read: "You do not care to believe how it stands with your daughter. Ask him who was once your friend. Ask the king's physician, on his honor and conscience. He will tell you the truth. Save what may yet be saved. Then will the writer of these lines divulge his name. From one who greatly esteems you. ----"