black ermine trimmings; and how beautifully the diadem of diamonds and sapphires gleamed and sparkled on the brown hair of the Princess!  Again the Stadtholder came out of the palace with hasty steps, flew to the Electress, and offered her his arm, to lead her into the palace.  Nor need the two Princesses walk alone behind; they, too, have their knight—­young Count Schwarzenberg, who had received the Electress.  He offered his arm to the Princess Charlotte Louise, which she accepted with a lovely smile and a becoming blush.  Ah! what a handsome couple that was, and how remarkably their dress corresponded, for the Princess was also dressed in silver brocade, and from her shoulders fell a mantle of purple velvet edged with ermine.  The little Princess Sophie Hedwig stepped behind her.  But who was this young man, who suddenly stepped forward, made his way through the throng, and offered her his arm?  Nobody had seen him or observed him, and he had come on foot, accompanied by a single page.  Who was this handsome young man, in light-blue velvet suit, who with the young Princess on his arm mounted the steps with her, laughing merrily.

“It is he!  It is the Electoral Prince!  It is Frederick William!  Cheers for our Electoral Prince!  Hurrah for Frederick William!  Welcome, welcome home!  Long live our Electoral Prince!”

Within the hall, at the window, stood the Elector, and these shouts emanating from thousands of throats darkened his countenance.  The people had kept silence when their Sovereign showed himself to them, and now they exulted on seeing his son!

Without, at the head of the steps, stood the Electoral Prince, and the shouting of so many thousand voices summoned a glad smile to his face.  How handsome he was, and what a happiness it was to look at him!  How like a lion’s mane fell his thick, fair brown hair on both sides of his narrow oval face, how like brilliant stars sparkled his large, dark-blue eyes, and what bold thoughts were written upon his broad, clear brow!  And how stately and impressive was his figure, too—­how slender, and yet how firm and athletic!  Yes, those broad shoulders were well fitted to bear the burden of government, and behind that breast beat surely a strong, great heart!

“Long live the Electoral Prince!  Three cheers!  Long live Frederick William!”

He bowed once more, nodding and bestowing kind greetings upon those on both sides, then entered the palace, followed by his page in black velvet suit.

Who is that page?  Nobody observes him, nobody has looked at him.  Who troubles himself about the servant when he looks at the master?—­who asks why the page’s face is so pale, why his glance so feverish and restless?  Very few know the court painter Gabriel Nietzel, and those who do know him will surely never imagine that it is he who to-day acts as page to the Electoral Prince Frederick William.  He mingles with the host of gold-bedizened servants and lackeys in the entrance hall, and follows