And the medical gentleman left the room, followed by the Chamberlain von Goetz.

“You think then, doctor,” asked the latter outside in the passage, “that the Electoral Prince is not seriously sick?”

“Have you ever had the sickness which follows too free indulgence in wine, Sir Chamberlain?” asked the doctor gravely.  “If so, you know exactly how the Electoral Prince feels.”

“Badly enough,” laughed Herr von Goetz.  “I have certainly had my own frightful experiences of that sickness.  You think then, doctor, I may without impropriety return to Count Schwarzenberg’s feast?”

“Without any impropriety whatever, Sir Chamberlain.  What the Prince chiefly needs is sleep and my medicine.  When he has swallowed even a few spoonfuls he will feel much soothed and relieved.”

The two gentlemen left the castle together, and Dietrich remained alone with the Prince.  He had first hastened with the long prescription to the Electoral apothecary, and ordered that it should be left as soon as prepared in the antechamber of the Prince’s rooms.  Then he had fetched a pitcher of milk from his own chamber, and, kindling a fire in the Prince’s sleeping apartment, warmed the milk.  Now he approached with the steaming draught the couch of the Prince, who lay sighing and moaning, with closed eyes and tightly compressed lips, paying no heed to Dietrich’s entreaties.  Finally, after a long pause, he opened his eyes and fixed them with a vacant expression upon the weeping and trembling old man.

“Dietrich, I believe I am dying,” he gasped.  “But do not tell anybody.  No one must know what I suffer, else he, too, would come to me, and I wish to see his hated face no more.”

“Most gracious Prince, I beseech you, drink.  Here is milk!”

“Give it to me, give it to me, Dietrich!  Perhaps there is yet hope.”

He emptied the cup, and again sank back.  Dietrich knelt by his couch and murmured prayers, imploring God to be with the Electoral Prince and to save him from death.  Hour after hour sped away.  Evening drew near, the shades of night closed in, and still all was quiet and noiseless within the castle precincts.  Count Schwarzenberg’s feast proceeded undisturbed.  It was truly a feast of enchantment, and even the Electress was carried away by it.  Twice had she dispatched footmen to inquire after her son’s health, and each time old Dietrich had sent word that the Prince had fallen into a sweet sleep, and that the doctor’s medicine seemed to agree with him wonderfully well.  Of this medicine Dietrich threw aside a spoonful every fifteen minutes, and instead of it gave the Prince his own prescription—­warm milk.  But still there was no alleviation of his sufferings, and even the violent vomiting, which twice ensued, had not diminished the Prince’s pain.