"Oh," he groaned, from the depths of his heart. "I know that I am a reality, if not by day, yet at night. None of those about me are tormented in lonely hours as I am; their temples do not beat with fever heat when they lie down after their day's work.
"What pleasure have I amidst these dull tapestry-rooms, or among the old pictures of Mother Nature? Laughing without amusement, angry about trifles,--everything cold, indifferent, and soulless!
"It is only in rare moments, when I have been with her, that I feel like another man; then the warm blood courses through my veins. When in her honest simplicity she talks of all that she loves and takes pleasure in, a woman with a child's heart, then I become young again like her. She talked to me of her brother 'curly-head.' I see the boy before me, a lively lad, with his sister's eyes. I see the little simpleton eating his bread and butter, and it moves me as if I were reading a touching story. I long to catch up the boy in my arms as if he belonged to me.
"She herself is true and upright; it is a pure mind, and beneath her calm gentleness strong passion lies concealed. What a passion she fell into when my messenger offered her the patent of nobility! She is a woman to live with whom is worth some trouble, and to gain whom a man would do much.
"But what can I do? What I can give her will be of little value to her; what I take from her--how will she make up her mind to that?" He looked timidly at the empty place on the wall. "Another picture was to have hung there," he exclaimed; "why is it not there? Why does the remembrance of one long gone lie on my brain like a stone, the pressure of which I feel every day when mingling among men, and every night when I rest my weary head upon my hands? That woman slept many years ago in the same room where now the stranger reposes; she did not awake, as it would have been right for her to have done; when she did awake and came to consciousness, a spring broke in her weak mind, and she remained a soulless body."
A feverish shudder passed through him; he shook himself and rushed out of the gallery, looked shyly behind him, and closed the door.
"The violence of passion is extinguished," he continued, after a time; "with years one becomes more cautious. I will hold her fast, whatever may be the result; it is no longer the burning glow of youth, it is the heart of a ripened man that I offer to her. With firm patience will I await what time prepares for me; slowly will this fruit ripen in the warm sun. I shall persevere, but I will hold her fast. Her husband is becoming suspicious about her; it was an awkward excuse that he invented; he also is struggling out of my hand. I must keep her, and only childish means can be used for these childlike hearts."
The bell rang, the servant entered, and received an order.
Magister Knips appeared before the Sovereign; his cheeks were flushed, and vehement excitement worked in his features.
"Have you read the memorial which Professor Werner has written concerning the manuscript?" asked the Sovereign, carelessly. "What is your opinion of it?"