“Well, your Majesty, they have sacked Coblentz, if that is any recommendation for them.”
The reply of the Empress seemed irrelevant.
“Have you ever seen the hall in which the Emperors are nominated—or deposed?” she asked.
“No, your Majesty.”
“Then follow me.”
The lady led him along a passage that seemed interminable, then down a narrow winding stair, through a vaulted tunnel, the dank air of which struck so cold and damp that the young man felt sure it was subterranean; lastly up a second winding stair, at the top of which, pushing aside some hanging tapestry, they stood within the noble chamber known as the Wahlzimmer. The red walls were concealed by hanging tapestry, the rich tunnel groining of the roof was dim in its lofty obscurity. A long table occupied the centre of the room, with three heavily-carved chairs on either side, and one, as ponderous as a throne, at the head.
“There,” said the Empress, waving her hand, “sit the seven Electors when a monarch of this realm is to be chosen. There, to-morrow night will sit a majority of the Electoral College. In honour of this assemblage I have caused these embroidered webs to be hung round the walls, so you see, I, too, have a plan. Through this secret door which the Electors know nothing of, I propose to admit a hundred of your men to be concealed behind the tapestry. My plan differs from yours in that I determine to imprison four men, while you would attempt to capture four thousand; I consider therefore that my chances of success, compared with yours, are as a thousand to one. I strike at the head; you strike at the body. If I paralyse the head, the body is powerless.”
Wilhelm knit his brows, looked around the room, but made no reply.
“Well,” cried the Empress, impatiently, “I have criticised your plan; criticise mine if you find a flaw in it.”
“Is it your Majesty’s intention to have the men take their places behind the hangings before the archbishops assemble?”