George William’s countenance glowed and his eyes burned.  He loved the pleasures of the table, and the wine was costly and had driven all ill humor from his heart.  He now felt quite comfortable, quite happy, and bent friendly glances across upon his son, who was so splendid, so glorious to look upon, and the sight of whom, although he would probably not acknowledge it to himself, rejoiced his father’s heart.

Frederick William had just removed the great goblet from his lips, and placed it half full upon the table.  The Elector saw it, the cold liquor looked inviting, and at the same time he would give his son a public token of his kindly disposition:  all the guests must see how high in his favor stood the Electoral Prince.

“You drink water, my son?” he asked.  “That is wise and prudent, and deserves to be imitated at this table of reveling.  I will follow your example, Frederick William.  Hand your glass across the table to me, son.”

The Electoral Prince hastily rose from his seat, and tried to hand the glass to his father; but his hand trembled so violently that he could not hold the glass; it escaped from his hands, and fell with a crash upon the table.

The Electress uttered a piercing cry, the Princesses shrieked aloud.  The music stopped in the midst of a strain commenced, the guests interrupted their conversation, and all eyes were directed to the middle of the table, where the Electoral family was seated.  What did it mean?  Prince Frederick William rose from his seat.  His countenance was pale as death, but he still tried to keep a smile upon his lips.  He bowed across the table to his father.  “Your pardon, sir.  Permit me to absent myself, for I am not quite well.”

“Go, my son!” exclaimed George William.  “That comes from not being accustomed to strong Hungarian wine!” And the Elector turned, laughing, to his wife, who glanced anxiously at her son.  “Your wise son,” said he, “has learned everything, only he has not learned to drink.  He has not been taught that in your uncle’s polite and polished court, and we must supply their negligence here.”

The Electoral Prince reeled through the hall, waving off all who approached him or offered him assistance.  “It is nothing, nothing at all,” he said with cheerful, broken voice.  “I have taken a little cold.  Let me get away unnoticed.”

All kept their seats, as the Prince desired, and as the Elector required by tarrying himself at the table.  Only the Stadtholder, in his capacity of host, had risen from the table to offer his guidance to the Electoral Prince.  He approached him, proffering the support of his arm.

“Will your highness do me the honor to rest upon my arm, and permit me to escort you to your carriage?”

The Electoral Prince shuddered, and, suddenly lifting his head, flashed an angry glance from his already clouded eyes into the proud, composed countenance of the count.  But it quickly vanished, Frederick William accepted Schwarzenberg’s proffered arm, and, leaning upon him, tottered out of the hall into the antechamber.  His countenance was deadly pale, dark circles were under his eyes, his lips were colorless, his eyes bloodshot.  But still he maintained his erect position by mere force of will, and even controlled himself so far as to smile and address a few friendly words to the count.