But a certain Baron von Unertl--heavy-built Bavarian of the old type, an old stager in the Bavarian Ministries--was of far other disposition.

One day, out at Nymphenburg, Unertl got to the Council-room, while Belleisle and Company were there: Unertl found the apartment locked, absolutely no admittance; and heard voices, the Kurfurst's and French voices, eagerly at work inside.

"Admit me, Gracious Herr; UM GOTTES WILLEN, me!" No admission.

Unertl, in despair, rushed round to the garden side of the Apartment; desperately snatched a ladder, set it up to the window, and conjured the Gracious Highness: "For the love of Heaven, my ALLERGNADIGSTER, don't! Have no trade with those French! Remember your illustrious Father, Kurfurst Max, in the Eugene-Marlborough time, what a job he made of it, building actual architecture on THEIR big promises, which proved mere acres of gilt balloon!" [Hormayr, _Anemonen_ (cited above), ii.

152.] Words terribly prophetic; but they were without effect on Karl Albert.
The rest of Belleisle's inflammatory circuitings and extensive travellings, for he had many first and last in this matter, shall be left to the fancy of the reader.