The king's eyes flashed angrily, but he controlled himself.
"His death!" he repeated, shrugging his shoulders, "as if men died of such small wounds. You know better yourself. You know that the grave of one love is the cradle of another. Be wise, and do as I tell you: in eight days you will be engaged, and then you will have the kindness to acquaint Prince Henry with your happy prospects."
"Ah, sire, do not be so cruel as to ask this of me," cried Louise, gliding from the divan upon her knees, "be merciful. I am ready to obey the commands of my king, to make the sacrifice that is asked of me--let it not be too great a one. Your majesty asks that I shall draw down the contempt of the man I love upon myself; that this man must not only give me up, but scorn me. You require too much. This is more than the strongest, bravest heart can endure. Your majesty knows that the prince loves me passionately. Ah, sire, your brother would have forfeited his rank and your favor by marrying me, but he would have been a happy man; and I ask the king if that is not, at last, the best result? Are you, sire, content and happy since you trampled your breathing, loving heart to death at the foot of the throne? You command your brother to do as you have done. Well, sire, I submit--not only to resign the prince, but to marry again, to marry without love. Perhaps my soul will be lost by this perjury, but what matters that--it is a plaything in the hands of the king? He may break my heart, but it shall not be dishonored and trodden in the dust. The prince shall cease to love me, but I will not be despised by him. He shall not think me a miserable coquette, despise, and laugh at me. Now, sire, you can crush me in your anger. I have said what I had to say--you know my decision."
She bowed her head almost to the earth; motionless, kneeling at the foot of the king, her hands folded on her breast, she might in reality have been taken for an odalisque but that her sad, tearful face was not in unison with the situation or costume.
A long pause ensued--a solemn, fearful pause. The king struggled with his rage, Louise with her disappointment and distress. Sounds of laughter, the gay notes of music reached them from the dancing-saloon.
The ball had commenced, and youth and beauty were mingling in the dance.
These sounds aroused the king, and the sad contrast made Louise shudder.
"You will not, then, comply with my request?" said the king, sternly.
"Sire, I cannot!" murmured Louise, raising her hands imploringly to the king.
"You cannot!" cried the king, whose face glowed with anger; "you cannot, that means you will not, because your vain, coquettish heart will not resign the love of the prince. You submit to resign his hand, because you must; but you wish to retain his love: he must think of you as a heavenly ideal, to be adored and longed for, placed amongst the stars for worship. Ah, madame, you are not willing to make the gulf between you impassable! You say you wish, at least, to retain the respect of Prince Henry. I ask you, madame, what you have done to deserve his respect? You were an ungrateful and undutiful daughter; you did not think of the shame and sorrow you prepared for your parents, when you arranged your flight with the gardener. I succeeded in rescuing you from dishonor by marrying you to a brave and noble cavalier. It depended upon you entirely to gain his love and respect, but you forgot your duty as a wife, as you had forgotten it as a daughter. You had no pity with the faults and follies of your husband, you drove him to despair. At last, to drown his sorrows, he became a drunkard, and you, instead of remaining at his side to encourage and counsel him, deserted him, and so heartlessly exposed his shame that I, to put an end to the scandal, permitted your divorce. You not only forgot your duty as a wife and daughter, but also as a mother. You have deprived your child of a father, you have made her an orphan; you have soiled, almost depraved her young soul; and now, after all this, you wish to be adored and respected as a saint by my poor brother! No, madame! I shall know how to save him from this delusion; I shall tell to him and the world the history of little Louise von Schwerin! Fritz Wendel still lives, and, if you desire it, I can release him, and he may tell his romantic story."
"Oh, for the second time to-day I have heard that hateful name!" cried Louise; "the past is an avenger that pursues us mercilessly through our whole lives."
"Choose, madame!" said the king, after a pause; "will you announce your betrothal to my brother in a gay and unembarrassed tone, or shall I call Fritz Wendel, that he may sing the unhappy prince to sleep with his romantic history?"
Whilst the king spoke, Louise had raised herself slowly from her knees, and taken a seat upon the divan. Now rising, and bowing lowly, she said, with trembling lips and tearful voice: "Sire, I am prepared to do all that you wish. I shall announce my betrothal to the prince cheerfully, and without sighs or tears. But be merciful, and free me forever from that hideous spectre which seems ever at my side!"
"Do you mean poor Fritz Wendel?" said the king, smiling.
"Well, on the day of your marriage I will send him as a soldier to Poland: there he may relate his love-adventures, but no one will understand him. Are you content?"
"I thank you, sire," said Louise, faintly.
"Ah, I see our conversation has agitated you a little!" said the king.
"Fortunately, we are now at an end. In the next eight days, remember, you will be engaged!"
"Yes, sire."
"The day of your marriage, I will make your captain a major. You promise to tell my brother of your engagement, and that it is in accordance with the warmest wishes of your heart?"
"Yes, sire; and you will banish the gardener forever?"
"I will; but wait--one thing more. Where will you tell my brother of your engagement, and before what witnesses?"
"At the place and before the witnesses your majesty may select," said Madame von Kleist.
The king thought a moment. "You will do it in my presence," said he; "I will let you know the time and place through Pollnitz. We have arranged our little affairs, madame, and we will descend to the saloon where, I think, your epouseur is sighing for your presence."
"Let him sigh, sire! With your permission, I should like to retire."
"Go, madame, where you wish. Pollnitz will conduct you to your carriage."
He offered her his hand, and, with a friendly bow, led her to the door.
"Farewell, madame! I believe we part friends?"
"Sire," she answered, smiling faintly, "I can only say as the soldiers do, 'I thank you for your gracious punishment!'"
She bowed and left the room hastily, that the king might not see her tears.
CHAPTER V. A SECRET CAPTAIN.
The king looked long after her in silence; at first with an expression of deep pity, but this soon gave place to a gay, mocking smile.
"She is not a woman to take sorrow earnestly. When mourning no longer becomes her, she will lay it aside for the rosy robes of joy. She is a coquette, nothing more. It is useless to pity her."
He now stepped upon the balcony that overlooked the saloon, and glanced furtively from behind the curtains upon the gay assembly below.
"Poor, foolish mankind! how wise you might be, if you were not so very childish--if you did not seek joy and happiness precisely where it is not to be found! But how is this?" said the king, interrupting himself, "those two giant forms at the side of the little Armenians are certainly Barons Kalkreuth and Kaphengst, and that is my brother with them. Poor Henry! you have made a bad use of your freedom, and must, therefore, soon lose it. Ah! see how searchingly he turns his head, seeking his beautiful odalisque! In vain, my brother, in vain! For to-day, at least, we have made her a repentant Magdalen; to-morrow she will be again a life-enjoying Aspasia. Ah, the prince separates himself from his followers. I have a few words to whisper in the ear of the gay Kaphengst."
The king stepped back into the room, and after resuming his mask, he descended into the saloon, accompanied by his grand chamberlain.
Mirth and gayety reigned; the room was crowded with masks. Here stood a group in gay conversation; there was dancing at the other end of the saloon. Some were listening to the organ-player, as he sang, in comical German and French verses, little incidents and adventures that had occurred during the present year at court, bringing forth laughter, confused silence, and blushes. Some were amusing themselves with the lively, witty chat of the son of the Prince of Prussia, the little ten-year-old, Prince Frederick William. He was dressed as the God of Love, with bow and quiver, dancing around, and, with an early-ripened instinct, directing his arrow at the most beautiful and fascinating ladies in the room.
Prince Henry paid no attention to all this; his wandering glance sought only the beautiful Louise, and a deep sigh escaped him at not having found her. Hastily he stepped through the rows of dancers which separated the two cavaliers from him.
"It appears," murmured Baron Kalkreuth to his friend, "it appears to me that the prince would like to get rid of us. He wishes to be entirely unobserved. I think we can profit by this, and therefore I shall take leave of you for a while, and seek my own adventures."
"I advise you," murmured Baron Kaphengst, laughingly, "to appoint no rendezvous for to-morrow."
"And why not, friend?"
"Because you will not be able to appear; for you will doubtless be in arrest."
"That is true, and I thank you for your prudent advice, and shall arrange all my rendezvous for the day after to-morrow. Farewell."
Baron Kaphengst turned laughingly to another part of the saloon.
Suddenly he felt a hand placed on his shoulder, and a low voice murmured his name.
Terrified, he turned. "I am not the one you seek, mask," he said; but as he met those two large, burning eyes, he shuddered, and even his bold, daring heart stood still a moment from terror. Only the king had such eyes; only he had such a commanding glance.
"You say you are not the one I seek," said the mask. "Well, yes, you speak wisely. I sought in you a brave and obedient officer, and it appears that you are not that. You are not, then, Lieutenant von Kaphengst?"
Kaphengst thought a moment. He was convinced it was the king that spoke with him, for Frederick had not attempted to disguise his voice.
Kaphengst knew he was discovered. There remained nothing for him but to try and reconcile the king by a jest.
He bowed close to the king, and whispered: "Listen, mask--as you have recognized me, I will acknowledge the truth. Yes, I am Lieutenant von Kaphengst, and am incognito. You understand me--I came to this ball incognito. He is a scoundrel who repeats it!" and, without awaiting an answer, he hastened away to seek the prince and Baron Kalkreuth, acquaint them with the king's presence, and fly with them from his anger.
But Prince Henry, whose fruitless search for his sweetheart had made him angry and defiant, declared he would remain at the ball until it was over, and that it should be optional with the king to insult his brother openly, and to punish and humble a prince of his house before the world.