"I ought, indeed, to be thankful to the dear people," returned her
husband. "The dear people have at least reminded the Electress that I
still exist, although she had crowded me back and rendered me entirely
invisible behind her. Yes, I will show myself to the people, as they still
think of me in the midst of their merriment. Step back from the window,
ladies, make room for your Elector and lord! And you, Count Schwarzenberg,
come and give me your arm; I would lean upon you!"

The count willingly offered the Elector his arm. Powerfully drawn up by
him, the Elector rose from his seat, and, leaning upon his favorite,
stepped close up to the window. The shouts of joy were for a moment
hushed; perhaps because the Electoral Prince had just ridden into the
palace yard, perhaps because the ladies' retreat from the window was
considered by the people a sign that the Elector was about to appear. And
now, within the window frame, was seen the clumsy, broad figure of the
Elector; now was seen his large head, sparsely covered with gray hairs,
his pale, swollen face, prematurely old, with its melancholy blue eyes and
thin, colorless lips, round which played not the slightest smile. In the
handsome, powerful, and youthful Electoral Prince the people had just
joyfully greeted Brandenburg's future, and now from the window of that
gray, gloomy, wretched old palace looked out upon them the hopelessness of
Brandenburg's present. Like gazing upon embodied care and joyless
resignation it was, to behold the Elector's grave, forbidding aspect, and
before it the joyous cry upon the people's lips was silenced. They stared
up at the window in dumb horror, and only here and there sounded cries
from compassionate or bribed mouths: "Long live the Elector! Long live
George William!" And like a dying echo came back the answer on this side
and on that, feebly and slowly: "Long live the Elector! Long live George
William!"