As Bierman broke the seal, all eyes were turned on him, and in this moment of expectation the professors were aware that their hearts beat louder and more rapidly.  Suddenly Professor Bierman uttered a cry, a cry of horror, which awakened an echo in every breast.

“Proceed,” commanded the president, with stony composure.

“I cannot,” murmured Bierman, as he sank back powerless in his chair.

“Then I will read it myself,” cried Professor Heinrich, forgetting all other considerations in his determination to satisfy his curiosity.  “I will read it,” he repeated, as he took the paper from the trembling hands of his friend.

“Read,” said the president, in a low voice.

Professor Heinrich then proceeded to read aloud the following dispatch sent by the General Assembly to the Senate of the University at Halle.

“We find it most unworthy that you, in your complaint against the comedians now in Halle, should endeavor to cast on them the blame of the late disturbance in the theatre.  We are well aware of the cause of this disturbance, and now declare that the actors shall not be banished from Halle.”

A fearful pause followed this reading.  The president perceived that Heinrich was still looking at the paper he held.

“Is that all?  Have you finished the dispatch?”

“No, your excellency; there is a note on the margin, in the writing of the king.”

“Read it aloud.”

“Your excellency, the king has made use of some expressions that I cannot bring my lips to utter.”

“The king is our master; we must hear what he has to say in all humility.”

“You command me, then, to proceed?”

“I command it.”

“’This pack of theologians have caused the whole difficulty.  The actors shall continue to play, and Mr. Franke, or whatever else the scamp calls himself, shall make public reparation, by visiting the theatre; and I must receive information from the actors themselves that he has done so.’”

A murmur of horror succeeded the reading of this order.  Only President Franke maintained his erect position, and continued looking straight before him at Professor Heinrich, who had just dropped the fatal paper.

“Is that all?” asked the president.

“It is, your excellency.”

He bowed gravely, and, rising from his chair, glanced slowly from one face to another.  The senators cast down their eyes before this glance, not from fear or shame, but from terror at the fearful expression of the president’s countenance.

“If that is all, it is time for me to go,” he said solemnly, as he pushed his chair back, and slowly and stiffly walked forward, like an automaton which has been set in motion by machinery.

“This has affected his brain.  He will have a paralytic stroke,” murmured the senators to one another.

The president did not hear them, nor did he seem to know what he wished.  He was now standing motionless a few steps from the table.