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 quieting wings very widely; they were fretting under the heavy burdens which followed a long revolutionary struggle.

To the nobility entering the proud palace over which hundreds of wax candles poured streams of mellow light, it was not long a secret why Count Francis Václav had invited them, and what cause had so suddenly aroused his friendly feeling. Greeting his guests, he introduced to them Count Fridštejnský, a nobleman about thirty years of age, of a graceful figure, with a face full of animation, simple in dress and manners—indeed, a great contrast to the rest of the guests, so stiff and jeweled. But each one of the mighty, arrogant nobles, who turned his eyes to the count bowed deeply, and respectfully retired to the rear.

Count Fridštejnský was evidently not surprised at these respectful retirements. He himself walked to the gentlemen and began to question them, while the younger guests started to dance. He engaged them in lively and apparently important conversation, for