aken, Louise; you have forgotten that
I am Frederick's brother, that the proud, unconquerable blood of the
Hohenzollerns flows also in my veins. Let my brother try to force me
to his purpose; I shall be no weak tool in his hands. You had not firm
confidence in your lover, Louise; you did not know that I would resign
cheerfully rank and all family ties for your sake; you did not know that
I had sworn to marry only the woman I love. This I must do to satisfy
my heart and my honor, and also to show the king that Prince Henry is
a free man. Now tell me, Louise, if I have not divined all. Is not
this the king's cruel work? Ah, you do not answer, you are silent. I
understand--the king has made you swear not to betray him. Now look at
me, Louise; make me a sign with your hand, tell me with your eyes, and
I will comprehend you--I will take you in my arms and carry you to
the altar. My God! Louise do you not see that I am waiting for this
sign?--that you are torturing me?"

Louise raised her head, her heart was melting within her; she forgot her
terror, and was ready to resist God, the king, and the whole world, to
grasp the noble and unselfish love that the prince offered her. But her
glance fell involuntarily upon the curtain, behind which the king stood,
and it seemed to her as if she saw the angry, burning eyes of Frederick
threatening to destroy her. She remembered her daughter, Fritz Wendel,
and the world's mocking laughter, and was overcome.

"You are still silent," said the prince; "you give me neither sign nor
glance."

Louise felt as if an iron hand was tearing her heart asunder.

"I really am at a loss what more to say or do," she said, in a careless
tone, that made her own heart shudder. "It pleases your highness to make
a jest of what I say. I am innocent, my prince, of any double meaning.
Five weeks have passed since I saw you--I believed you had forgotten me;
I did not reproach you, neither was I in despair. I soon found that it
was stupid and dreary to have my heart unoccupied, and I sought for
and soon found a lover, to whom my heart became a willing captive.
Therefore, when Captain Trouffle pleaded earnestly for my hand, I had
not the courage to say no. This is my only crime, your highness. I was
not cruel to myself; I received the happiness that was offered. I have
been called a coquette, my prince; it is time to bind myself in marriage
bonds, and show the world that love can make an honest woman of me. Can