The Professor hastened to the inn and called for his servant.
"Show me your fidelity to-day, Gabriel: none but a messenger on horseback can arrive at Bielstein in time. Do your best, take courier's horses, and put a letter into the hands of my wife before the Court carriages arrive there."
"At your command, Professor," said Gabriel, with a military salute, "it is a hard ride even for a hussar; if I am not detained in changing horses, I trust to be able to deliver the letter in due time."
The Professor wrote in haste, and despatched Gabriel; then he returned to the dwelling of the High Steward.
The Sovereign was lying wearily on his sofa, his cheeks pale and his eyes dim--a thoroughly sick man.
"I had formerly other thoughts, and could, when I had touched the keys, play more than one melody; now everything changes itself into a discordant measure: she has gone, she is in the neighborhood of the boy, she laughs at her foolish wooer. I see nothing before me but the track on the high road that leads to her. A strange power eternally strikes the same notes within me, a dark shadow stands near me and points with its finger incessantly to the same path; I cannot control myself, I hear the words, I see the road, I feel the dark hand over my head."
The servant announced the High Steward.
"I will not see him," said the Sovereign, imperiously. "Tell his Excellence that I am on the point of departing for the country."
"His Excellence begs admittance, it is a question of an urgent signature."