“You should have put on another coat,” cried the Elector, impatiently, “for it is contrary to respect that you should enter in such shabby style.”

“Another coat?” asked the lackey, with an expression of the highest astonishment.  “Pardon, your Electoral Highness, I have only that one coat!”

“What!” exclaimed the Elector.  “Only one coat!  Did I not order that new livery coats should be made for you lackeys before our removal from Koenigsberg?”

“It was done, your Electoral Grace, we received our new livery coats before we left Koenigsberg.”

“Well, then, where are the old ones?”

“Your Electoral Grace, the master of the wardrobe sold the old ones to the Jews at Koenigsberg, who paid him a good sum of money for them, for the old livery coats were trimmed with genuine gold lace, but the new ones are cheaper, for it is only gilt or—­”

“Hold your tongue and begone!” cried the Elector.  “If you have no coat, then from to-day I dispense with your services, and Jocelyn shall take your place.”

“Forgive me, your Electoral Highness, but Jocelyn is in confinement.  The master of the wardrobe had him put in the guardhouse three days ago.”

“Wherefore then—­what has Jocelyn done that the master of the wardrobe should have him put into prison?”

“He was obstinate, your highness.  The paymaster has not distributed to us our wages for two months, so that none of us has a groschen in his pocket.  When we reached Berlin, three days ago, Jocelyn found his old mother miserably sick and well-nigh starved, for the Imperialists have thoroughly pillaged Berlin, and robbed the old woman of her last possession.  She had nothing to eat, and still less could she afford to send for a doctor and buy medicines.  So, in his desperation, Jocelyn went to the paymaster and begged of him his month’s wages, but was told that he could have nothing now, because the journey from Prussia here had cost so much money that all the coffers were empty; but that in the course of eight days the paymaster might be in funds again, and that then we should all have what was due us.  But, on account of his old mother, Jocelyn could not wait, and so in desperation went off and sold his new livery coat to an old-clothes man, and carried the money to his mother.  And for that reason, your Electoral Grace, poor Jocelyn now sits in the guardhouse.”

The Elector had turned away, and gazed from the window down into the pleasure garden, the branches of whose green trees nearly touched the windows of the apartment.  He could no longer meet the glance of the lackey Conrad; he would not have him witness his mortification and the painful twitchings of his mouth.  But after a while he turned again to old Conrad, who had crept softly toward the door, not venturing to go out without permission from his master.