"You may rely upon me, Prince. I will stand behind your chair, I will wait upon you at Count Schwarzenberg's feast."
"You, Gabriel Nietzel, you?" asked Frederick William, and his eyes were fixed upon the painter with a long glance of inquiry. Gabriel Nietzel sustained this glance, and succeeded in forcing a smile upon his lips.
"I will be your valet at the feast. I will stand behind your chair and wait upon you."
"Impossible, Gabriel. How could we manage that without insulting the count?"
"Very simply, your highness. Have the kindness to say that you brought me with you, in order that I might make for you a painting of the banquet, and to that end sketch the outlines, and that, to furnish a pretext for my presence, you have allowed me to appear as your page."
"It is true, that will suit! You have weighed all excellently, Gabriel
Nietzel, and your plan is good."
"And you accept it, gracious sir, do you not, you accept it?"
Frederick William was silent, and his large, deep-blue eyes were again fixed testingly and questioningly upon the painter's countenance. After a long pause he slowly laid his hand upon Gabriel's shoulder, and his looks brightened.
"Gabriel Nietzel," he said solemnly, "I will have confidence in you, I will assume that God sends you to me to save me; I will not assume that Count Schwarzenberg sends you to me to ruin me. You shall accompany me to the feast and stand behind my chair as page."
Gabriel Nietzel only answered by the tears, which in clear streams gushed from his eyes. "Oh, you weep," cried the Electoral Prince. "Now I see well that you mean honestly, and that I can trust you, for your tears speak for you."