He left the cabinet and entered his sleeping apartment, where, at the side of the bed, stood the great iron chest to which he alone had the key. After a few minutes he rejoined the officers in his cabinet. He had six rolls of money in his hand, two of which he handed to each of the three gentlemen.
"Here, gentlemen," he said, with bitter mockery, "here are the commandants who have authority to bring their troops to order. Go and show them to your men, and order them to follow these commandants to the cathedral square, and there distribute the money among them."
The gentlemen wished to thank him, but with a wave of his hand he pointed them to the door, and they hurried out to their soldiers.
Schwarzenberg looked after them, and listened to the rumbling and roaring without in the entrance hall of his house. Suddenly it became gentler, and finally ceased altogether. Then, after a pause, rang forth a loud shout of joy, and again the street filled with soldiers, again was heard the loud tramp of feet, the uproar and confusion of many tongues. "The wretches have marched off," murmured Count Schwarzenberg to himself. "Yes, yes, with money we buy love, with money hatred and—"
"Hurrah! Long live Count Schwarzenberg!" sounded below his windows. "Long live the Stadtholder in the Mark!"
"That shout costs me six hundred dollars," said he, shrugging his shoulders. "To-morrow, most likely the mob will come again to threaten me, that I may again purchase a cheer from them. Well, for the present at least I have rest. Nobody shall disturb me. Nobody shall intrude upon me."
He stepped to the doors leading into his sleeping room and antechamber, and bolted them both. He did not think of the secret door which led to the little corridor and thence to the private staircase, and did not bolt that. Why should he have done so? The steps were so little used, so few knew of them, so few, of the existence of the little side door which led to them. It was not necessary to lock that door, for no one would come to him in that way.
He was alone, God be praised, quite alone! And now again he remembered the important letter, which he had forgotten while the soldiers' riot was in progress. There lay his son's letter, on his writing table. He hastened thither and seated himself in the armchair, taking up the letter and examining its address. The sight of his son's handwriting rejoiced his heart, as a greeting from afar.
He drew a deep sigh of relief. All anguish, all cares had left him as soon as he took his son's letter in his hand. Even the warning voice in his heart had hushed, even the Fury no longer stood behind his chair; he no longer heard her death cry. All was silent in that spacious apartment behind him, on which he turned his back.
He took the letter, broke the seal, and slowly unfolded the paper. But now he put off reading its contents for one moment more. This sheet of paper contained the decision of his whole future, it would either exalt him into a reigning prince by bringing him the Emperor's sanction, or lower him into an underling of the Elector, making him a nobody, if—But no, it was impossible! The Emperor would not disavow him! It was folly to think of such a thing!