The city of Berlin was to-day in a state of unusual stir and excitement. Everybody made haste to finish his noon-day meal, and nobody thought of complaining especially that this repast was so sparingly provided and served in such small portions, and that the dread specter of hunger was ever stalking nearer to the inhabitants of the unhappy, much-plagued town. They were to-day looking forward to a spectacle one, moreover, for which no money was to be paid, which could be had gratis, just by being upon the street in right time and struggling to obtain a good position on the cathedral square, before the palace, or much better, before Count Schwarzenberg’s palace. For to-day the count gave a great banquet in his palace on Broad Street, and it was well worth the trouble of contending for a place before the palace, and not even being frightened by a few cuffs and blows. The whole fashionable world of Berlin, all the nobility of the regions round about, were invited to this feast, and the whole court was to appear there. And it was so rarely that the Electoral family was ever to be seen by the town. They had passed almost a year in the Mark, but in such quiet and retirement did they live that their presence would hardly have been recognized if on Sunday in the cathedral church, which stood in the center of the square between the palace and Broad Street, their lofty personages had not been discernible behind the glass panes of the Electoral gallery. But to-day they were not to be seen in the seriousness of devotion, with their solemn, church-going faces, but in the pomp and splendor of their exalted station, in the glitter of their earthly greatness. And, above all things, they were to see the Electoral Prince, the Prince who had but just returned home, the hope of the downtrodden land, the future of the Mark Brandenburg!

How the good people hurried with joyful, eager faces along toward Broad Street, with what hasty movements did they rush across the Spree Bridge! A black, surging throng of men stood before the castle on the cathedral square, a dense, motionless mass before Count Schwarzenberg’s palace. Only one passage was left free, broad enough to allow the carriage to drive across the castle square to the palace, and on both sides of this stood the halberdiers of the Stadtholder’s bodyguard, threateningly presenting their halberds toward those who ventured to step forward. The Stadtholder in the Mark had his own bodyguard fine, athletic fellows, of proud bearing, in splendid uniforms, trimmed everywhere with genuine gold and silver lace, while, as everybody knew, the members of the Electoral bodyguard wore nothing but imitation lace upon their uniforms. The Elector’s bodyguard, indeed, were paid and clothed by citizens, and they, on account of their want and distress, had refused to pay the last bodyguard tax, while the Stadtholder’s bodyguard consisted of members of his household and was paid and clothed by himself. And Count Schwarzenberg was very rich, and the citizens were very poor, but still the count had never once practiced mildness and mercy, and relieved the poor cities of their taxes and imposts, or given of his wealth to their poverty.

To-day, however, he gave a fête, a splendid fête, and however much at other times they dreaded and hated him, his fête they could still look upon, and with longing eyes behold all its magnificence. It was, indeed, glorious to look upon, and they saw, moreover, how much the Stadtholder honored and esteemed the Elector, for never before had he displayed such splendor, when he merely invited the high nobility. Above the grand door of entrance was stretched a canopy of crimson cloth, edged with gold, the golden pillars of the canopy reaching out even into the street. The four stone steps leading from the front door were covered with fine carpeting, which also stretched away to the street, to the spot where the guests were to alight from their carriages. On both sides of the carpet stood serried ranks of the Stadtholder’s lackeys in their flashy gold-trimmed liveries. They were headed by the count’s two stewards, with golden wands in their hands, broad gold bands about their shoulders, and monstrous three-cornered hats upon their heads. It was very fine to look upon, and not merely the merry urchins, who were swinging upon the iron railings of the count’s park, opposite the palace on the side of the cathedral square, enjoyed the spectacle, but the respectable burgher, with his well-dressed wife upon his arm, found his pleasure in it as well. The front doors were wide open, and they could look into the gorgeous columned hall, decorated with garlands and vases of fresh flowers. Yes, it was plainly to be seen that the Stadtholder felt himself greatly honored by the high company he was to receive to-day, and this even reconciled the good people a little to the proud, imperious Count Schwarzenberg.

And now the distinguished guests came riding up. There were the noblemen from the country round about, in their antiquated, rumbling vehicles, drawn by beautiful, handsomely harnessed horses. There were the Quitzows, the Goetzes and Krockows, the Buelows and Arnims, and as often as a carriage arrived the musicians, stationed on both sides of the palace, blew a flourishing peal of trumpets, and the noblemen bowed right and left, greeting, although no one had greeted them except Count Schwarzenberg’s chamberlain, von Lehndorf, who received the guests upon the threshold of the house. But now resounded a loud shouting and huzzaing, rolling nearer and ever nearer, like a monstrous wave, and an unusual, joyful movement pervaded the densely packed mass of men. “They come! they come!” sounded from mouth to mouth, and small people raised themselves on tiptoe, and tall ones turned their heads toward the corner of the cathedral square. Already they saw the foot runner, with his plumed hat and golden staff, as he came bounding on, then the two foreriders in their bright blue liveries, with low, round caps upon their heads, and then the electoral equipage, the great gilded coach of state, drawn by four black horses.

“Who is sitting in the coach of state? Is the Electoral Prince in it? Does he come in the same carriage with his father?”

The people grew dumb from impatience and expectancy, in the midst of their cries of joy; they wanted to see! All eyes shone with curiosity as the equipage rolled on. Over in the park, behind the railing, stood the drummers, and they began to beat a roll, which the boys riding on the railing seconded with genuine rapture. The trumpeters blew a flourish, and now Count Schwarzenberg himself issued from the broad palace door, followed by his son, the young Count John Adolphus. Ah! how glorious to behold was the Stadtholder in the Mark in his official costume as Grand Master of the Order of St. John, his breast quite covered with the stars of the order, whose gems glittered and sparkled so wondrously; and how handsome looked the young count, in his white suit of silver brocade, with puffs of purple velvet, his short, ermine-edged mantle of purple velvet, confined at the shoulders by clasps. The two counts made haste down the steps to the equipage. The Stadtholder in his amiable impatience opened the carriage door himself, and offered the Elector George William both his hands to assist him in alighting. And now, laboriously, gasping, with flushed face, and a forced smile upon his lips, the Elector dismounted from his carriage. Leaning upon his favorite’s arm, slowly and clumsily he moved forward to the house, his stout, lofty form bent, his gait heavy, and his blue eyes, which were only once turned to the gaping multitude, sad oh, so sad! The people looked with pity and compassion upon the poor, peevish gentleman, who, in spite of the great Prince’s star upon his breast and the Electoral hat with its waving plumes, was not by far so splendid to behold as the proud, stately Count Adam, who strode along at his side.

While the Stadtholder was conducting the Elector into the palace, the Electress alighted from the carriage, the two young Princesses following her. A loud cry of joy and admiration rang out, and called a smile to the lips of the Electress, a deep blush to the cheeks of the Princesses. The Electress’s robe, with its long train of gold brocade, was wondrous to behold, and above it the blue velvet mantle with 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 them into the banqueting hall. The doors of the house are closed; for the gaping crowd without the festival is ended, for the high-born guests within it is but just begun. The two wings of the doors leading into the banqueting hall are thrown open by the halberdiers, the musicians in the gilded balcony to the rear blow a loud, dashing flourish, and the Elector enters the hall, followed by the Electress, who leans upon the arm of Count Schwarzenberg. On both sides of the hall stand the lords and ladies of the nobility, who bow down to the ground, nothing being visible but the bowed necks of men, the courtesying forms of women all is reverence, solemnity, and silence. In the middle of the long table, just before that immense, solid mirror of Venetian crystal, are the places of the Electoral pair, as may be seen by those throne-like armchairs, on whose tall, straight backs is carved a golden crown as may be seen by the glittering gold plate of both covers.

How gorgeously is the long table laid, nothing to be seen but gold and silver plate! In the center is a huge piece of chased silver, representing Cupids and genii, who in golden shells, cornucopias, and vases offer the rarest fruits, the most delicious confections! Before each lady’s plate, in wondrously cut goblets, is a magnificent bouquet of flowers; before each gentleman’s, a silver bowl. A gold-bedizened lackey is behind each chair; two stand behind the chairs of each of their Electoral Highnesses.

“Why stands that page behind the Electoral Prince’s chair?” asks the Stadtholder, loud enough to be heard by the Prince, who is near him.

Frederick William breaks off in the midst of his conversation with the young Count John Adolphus, and turns smilingly to the Stadtholder.

“Pardon, your grace,” says he kindly. “I wished to preserve a memento of this handsome entertainment, the first entertainment by which my return home has been solemnized, and with my father’s permission I have brought with me the court painter Gabriel Nietzel, in order that he may look upon the feast and make a sketch of the scene. Since, of course, he could have no place at the table, he has assumed a page’s garb, that he may have the privilege of standing behind my chair. I fancy that the vain man would willingly immortalize himself in that picturesque costume. But as he has put on a page’s clothes, he will also perform a page’s part, and I have therefore at his request consented that he shall wait upon me to-day and hand me all my food. Does your grace also grant him this upon my bequest?”

“Oh, most gracious Prince, you need never make requests; you have only to command. Away there, you fellows! away from the Electoral Prince’s chair, vacate your places for the page! Mr. Court Painter Nietzel, take good care not to be negligent in your duties, to-day be nothing but the Electoral Prince’s page so long as we are at table, afterward you can again be the court painter!”

The page bowed in silence, and Count Schwarzenberg paid no further attention to him, but followed the Electoral pair, who were making the circuit of the hall, here and there addressing a friendly word to some member of the nobility, sweeping past before an answer could be stammered forth. The circuit was completed; a thrice repeated nourish of trumpets resounded; the Chamberlain von Lehndorf rushed to the window, and with a white handkerchief made a signal down to the pleasure garden. Cannon thundered forth salutes, informing the town that the Elector had just sat down to table, that the feast at the house of the Stadtholder in the Mark had begun.

A choice, a sumptuous banquet! Delicious viands, splendid wines! Gradually they forgot a little the requirements of rigid etiquette and pompous silence; gradually tongues were loosened, and there was talking and laughing; even the Elector lost his hard, peevish nature, his face glowed with a brighter hue, his form became more elastic, and cheerful words sounded from his lips.

A choice, a sumptuous banquet! The Electress laughed, and had totally forgotten that Count Adam Schwarzenberg, sitting at her side, was her detested enemy. She chatted as cozily and earnestly with him as if he were one of her most devoted friends and servants. Opposite her sat her two daughters, and Princess Charlotte Louise inclined with a pleasant smile toward Count John Adolphus, who sat beside her, and had just been painting to her with glowing eloquence the glories of the imperial city, gorgeous Vienna.

Now his bold glance darted across at the Electoral pair; they were busy talking and eating; nobody was noticing him.

“Princess, dear, adored Princess, do you hear me when I speak so softly?”

“I hear you, Sir Count.”

“Sir Count!” repeated he, sighing. “You retract your word, then? You thrust me again into the ranks of your court cavaliers and counts? You have no longer a word of welcome for the poor, pitiable man who worships you, who is blessed if he can only look at you, only hear the tones of your sweet voice, and who has been longing for this with desire and painful rapture for three long months? Not one word of welcome for me?”

“I welcome you welcome you with my whole heart! Have you only been away three months? Were they not three years?”

“Seems it so to you, my adored mistress? I believe it was three hundred years three eternities. And yet these eternities have not altered your angelic face. It is still ever radiant in its heavenly, rosy beauty, and not a feature betrays that you have suffered on my account, that you have longed for me.”

“Then my face belies me, for I have longed for you; therefore the months lengthened into years, and it seems to me as if I have become a very old, sedate person since I last saw you.”

“Oh, dearest, how I long for one moment of solitary communing with you, when I can kneel at your feet, cover your hands with kisses, and tell you how inexpressibly I love you! Be not cruel, Louise, in this hour of reunion. Tell me that you, too, long for such a moment that you will grant it to me.”

“And if I should say so, how would it help us? You know well that I am watched day and night. My mother never lets me leave her side, and our governess watches over me still, just as if I were a child that could not walk a step without an attendant, nor write a line without her reading it.”

“Ah, you dear, sweet angel! if you only loved me half as ardently as I love you, your pretty, prudent little head would already have devised some means whereby poor John Adolphus would not have to plead in vain for one blissful moment passed alone with you.”

“I love you, John Adolphus, but oh, I dare not love you! The wrath of my mother would be boundless if she even suspected it.”

“She need not suspect it beforehand, nor hear anything about it before we are certain of your father’s gracious consent.”

“You esteem that possible? You believe that my father will ever consent for me

“For you to condescend to become my wife? I hope so hope that the Emperor’s favor exalts me a little, so that the chasm which separates us is not too great for you to cross, for you to carry in your bosom a strong heart and a true love. About all these things I must speak with you, sweetest Princess, for here we must be cautious. Only see with what earnest looks the Electress is already regarding us! Be pitiful, Louise; tell me that you will consent to meet me alone for one quarter of an hour.”

“Pass by the cathedral, then, to-morrow about ten o’clock of the forenoon. Old Trude will be there and have a message for you, and

“Long live our most gracious Sovereign! Long live George William!” cried Count Schwarzenberg, rising from his seat and holding the golden bumper aloft in his right hand.

All the guests started from their seats, and joined in the shouts: “Long live our most gracious Sovereign! Long live George William!” And the golden goblets clashed against one another, and the trumpets and kettledrums chimed in with crashing peals.

The Electoral Prince, too, would rise from his seat, but his head swam, all was whirls and turns before his eyes, and he sank back upon his chair.

Gabriel Nietzel stooped over him. “How are you, gracious sir? Are you not well?”

“Quite well as yet, Gabriel. Only give me a fresh glass of water and put some sugar in it.”

Gabriel Nietzel flew to the sideboard, and, while he filled a glass with water, his pale lips murmured, “Your evil genius bade you say that!” And while he shook into the glass the white pulverized sugar, which, by the way, he had not taken from the bowl standing on the sideboard, in the depths of his heart he whispered, “Rebecca, this I do for you!”

He took up the tall tumbler and presented it to the Electoral Prince. Frederick William seized the glass and drank, in long draughts. It had done him good, his head was easy again, there was no longer such a fearful roaring in his ears.

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.

“My heavens, noble sir!” cried Schwarzenberg, with an expression of painful horror, “this is more than a mere passing indisposition. You are really sick you are suffering!”

“Not so, count. I am not suffering at all, and it is only a trifling ailment. My father is quite right the strong wine has mounted to my head. I am not used to drinking and feasting, that is all. To-morrow will Count, I beg you to lead me to my carriage. It is dark before my eyes!”

And the Prince sank back groaning and half unconscious. The count beckoned the princely Chamberlain von Goetz to approach, and the two gentlemen, aided by a few lackeys, bore the Prince carefully out to the carriage. Then Frederick William opened his eyes, his wandering glance strayed around, and his lips stammered softly: “Where is Gabriel Nietzel? Is he with me?”

But Gabriel Nietzel was nowhere to be seen; only the Chamberlain von Goetz was there, and he got into the carriage, which bore the deadly sick Prince at full gallop to the palace.

Count Schwarzenberg looked after the retreating vehicle with earnest, thoughtful face, then turned to re-enter the palace. On the threshold stood Gabriel Nietzel, and the eyes of the two men met in one glance of awe and horror.

“Your grace sees I have kept my word,” murmured Gabriel Nietzel.

“Away!” commanded the count imperiously. “If you are not out of Berlin in one hour I shall have you arrested by the police, and accuse you as the murderer of the Electoral Prince, for you alone waited upon him! Be off!”

But Gabriel Nietzel stirred not from the threshold, and the look which he fixed upon the count was not humble and reverential, but threatening. “Sir,” asked he shortly and harshly “sir, where are Rebecca and my child?”

“At your lodgings, you fool! Hurry, I tell you!” And with ungentle hand the count thrust the painter from the door, and returned to the banqueting hall to inform the Elector and his spouse with smiling, almost mocking gesture, that the young gentleman himself had said that the strong wine had slightly affected his head, and produced a temporary indisposition.

The Elector laughed aloud, and the anxious brow of the Electress cleared up again. The entertainment quietly proceeded.

Why should they be uneasy about the young gentleman, who had no other sufferings than those resulting from unwonted indulgence in strong drink?

The Electoral Prince had meanwhile arrived with his chamberlain at the castle. No one came to meet them. All the servants had dispersed hither and thither, in pursuit of their own business or enjoyments. They knew, indeed, that Count Schwarzenberg’s feast would be continued to a late hour of the night, and who could imagine that the Electoral Prince would return home in so unexpected a manner? The castle was deserted, and the chamberlain must needs summon to his aid the sentinel who was pacing up and down before the castle, in order to lift the Prince from his carriage and into the entrance hall. Now he called aloud for help, since the Prince had become perfectly helpless, and lay senseless upon the stone bench in the hall.

The porter, who was only asleep in his lodge, rushed out, and old Dietrich, the valet, also came hurrying down the steps.

They bore the Prince to his own apartments, put him to bed upon his own couch, and, as the Chamberlain von Goetz saw the old faithful Dietrich standing beside his young master, sobbing and so full of grief, he kindly laid his hand upon his shoulder.

“It is nothing of moment, good old man. The Prince has only taken too much wine, that is all. Be comforted. To-morrow will make all straight again.”

Dietrich sorrowfully shook his head. “You are mistaken, Sir Chamberlain; this is not the effect of wine. The Electoral Prince is much too fine and noble a gentleman for that; he never drinks more than he can stand. Just see how pale and wretched he looks. My dear young master is sick, very sick. They have murdered him, they have killed him, they

“Hush, Dietrich, for God’s sake, hush!” interposed the chamberlain, turning pale. “Guard your tongue, that it never again utter such horrible words; guard your thoughts, that they dare not even think anything so dreadful.”

“It is true, nevertheless,” murmured the old man, and, as he bent over the Electoral Prince and watched him with loving looks, the tears fell hot and fast from his eyes upon Frederick William’s pale face. These tears roused the latter, restored him to consciousness.

There was yet one man who loved him, who sympathized with him, who wept when he saw him suffer!

The Electoral Prince opened his eyes, and, on recognizing old Dietrich, nodded to him and murmured softly, “Dietrich, I am suffering fearfully.”

“Hear, Sir Chamberlain,” said Dietrich; “the dear Prince recognizes me, he has his reason, he knows what he sees and says, so you see it is not wine that But he says that he suffers fearfully, and I believe it indeed; for what burns his vitals is I must go for the physician, Dr. White; he must try every means; he must know what ails the Prince what they have done to him; and he must apply remedies. Stay here, Sir Chamberlain; I will run for Dr. White.”

And old Dietrich hastily started to leave the couch, but the Prince’s hand was laid upon his arm, and held him fast.

“Stay, Dietrich, stay! You, dear Goetz, go you, I beg, for Dr. White and fetch him here; he must come immediately, for I am really sick. I suffer. Make haste, dear Goetz. You are younger, brisker than my good old Dietrich; therefore I choose you.”

The chamberlain pressed a kiss upon the Prince’s burning, trembling hand.

“Dearest sir, as swiftly as a man’s anxious heart can move his feet I shall hasten to the doctor and bring him here!”

The chamberlain flew on tiptoe from the apartment, and all was still. Nothing was heard but the low moans and sighs of the Prince, who lay there with pallid features and shaking limbs, while over him bent weeping his faithful old servant.

After a while the Prince raised himself a little, slowly opened his eyes, and cast a sad, sweeping glance around the room.

“Dietrich, are we alone?” he asked, in a hoarse, almost inaudible voice.

“Quite alone, gracious sir.”

“Then hear what I have to say to you. Incline your ear close to me, for you alone must hear me. When the physician comes, take good care not to repeat to him what you said just now to the chamberlain. He and all the world must think that it is actually nothing but wine which has made me sick. He will prescribe medicine for me. Have it prepared forthwith. You alone must stay with me. Tell them I have ordered it, and Goetz must return to the banquet and tell them it was nothing but wine. Dietrich, do not give me the medicine, but throw it away. There is only one kind of physic for me milk, only milk, that is my cordial. Give me milk, Dietrich, milk directly, for the pains are coming on again, so dreadfully, oh, so dreadfully! But do not tell anybody. Nobody must know what I suffer! It burns like fire! Milk, Dietrich, milk!”