tain 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