your honor drive me away, nothing further than that you dismiss the hated
minister, whom they abhor, simply because he is a Catholic and not a
Reformer, and because he is named Schwarzenberg and not Rochow or Quitzow,
nor blessed with some country bumpkin's title."

"I will rout this pack of vagabonds!" cried the Elector. "Let them dare
just once more to let such an opprobrious, insulting shout be heard!"

And, quite forgetting his weakness and his limb so painfully swollen with
gout, the Elector went rapidly to the still open corner window, and,
leaning far out of it, lifted up his hand, commanding quiet. The people
took this inclination of the body, this movement of the hand, for a token
of grace, for a kind salutation on the part of their Sovereign, perhaps
even for a granting of their demand. They roared aloud with delight, waved
aloft their hats and caps, their arms and handkerchiefs, and cried and
whooped and hurrahed: "Long live the Elector! Long live George William!
Long live the Electoral Prince!"

The Elector stepped back and shut the window so violently that the little
panes of glass, framed in lead, fairly rattled.

"Frantic populace!" he growled, "they mix up a wretched salad of cheers
and curses, mingle weeds with their herbs, and fancy that we will find
this devilish compound pleasing to our palates! We shall remember them for
it, and--"

"Most gracious sir!" cried Count Schwarzenberg, with radiant countenance,
approaching the Elector--"most gracious sir, in this blessed hour of our
beloved Electoral Prince's return, I have a favor to ask of your highness.
His grace has just greeted me so amiably, so condescendingly, that he has