"Herr Count," one day observed Henry, toward the close of the second week, "if I hear much more of Master Matyas's wonderful battles, I shall become as crazy as he is!"
And the count replied:
"You are crazy already, my good Henry—and so am I!"
At last the task was completed. Count Vavel was satisfied with the work Master Matyas had performed, and it only remained for Marie to express herself satisfied with the arrangement which would barricade her every night as securely as were the treasures of the "green vault" in Dresden.
A few days afterward was Marie's sixteenth birthday. Count Vavel had come to her apartments, as usual, to congratulate her, and to hear what her birthday wish might be. But the young girl, whose sparkling eyes had become veiled with melancholy, whose red lips had already learned to express sadness, had no commands to give to-day.
After dinner the count, on some pretence, detained Marie in the library while Master Matyas completed his task in her room.
This masterpiece was a peculiar curtain composed of small squares of steel so joined together that light and air could easily penetrate the screen. It was fitted between the two marble columns which supported the arch of the bed-alcove. When the metal curtain was lowered, by means of a cord, two springs in the floor caught and held it so securely that it could not be lifted from the outside. To raise the screen the person in the alcove had only to touch a secret spring near the bed, when the screen would roll up of itself.
"And hast thou no wish this year, Marie?" asked the count, adopting, as usual on this anniversary, the familiar "thou."
"Yes, I have one, dear Ludwig," replied the young girl, but with no brightening of the melancholy features. "I have lost something, but thou canst not give it back to me."
"And what may this something be? What hast thou lost, Marie? Tell me."