"It is the little Händel from Halle, your grace," replied Christian.
"A relative of yours?"
The young man blushed, for he was unwilling to confess to an eight-year-old uncle; but he told the truth and satisfied his pride by explaining distinctly,—
"He is my grandfather's youngest son."
"Bring him hither, and his father also."
Christian disappeared, and presently Mr. Händel entered by one door, just before his son and grandson appeared on the threshold of the other.
The duke motioned the old gentleman to a distant corner, and beckoned the boy to approach.
Georg, bereft of Christian's support, and unaware of his father's presence, became so frightened that his breath almost failed as he advanced, and he wondered wildly if the trembling of his knees could be detected by the company. He carried his black beaver on his arm, as he had seen the courtiers do, and when he came within a few feet of the ducal chair, he bowed with a curious little bob that set the whole room laughing.
"Silence!" commanded the duke sternly; then turning, he kindly asked his small auditor what his name might be.
"Georg Friedrich Händel," replied the boy tremulously, but with the sound of his own voice his terror dissolved, and he stood before the Duke of Sächse with respectful composure.