ry
piece of furniture, every ornament, she examined attentively--all filled
her with delight. The prince, who accompanied her from room to room,
listened to her outbursts of pleasure, rejoicing.

"I wish that I could often prepare such happiness for you, dearest, for
my heart is twice gladdened to see your beaming face."

"Reflected from your own. You are my good genius upon earth. You have
caused the poor, neglected child to become the rich and happy woman. To
you I owe this home, this foot of earth, which I can call my own. Here
blossom the flowers for me--here I am mistress, and those who enter must
come as my guests, and honor me. All this I owe to you."

"Not to me," said the prince, smiling; "I only gave to you what was
given to me! To the king belong your thanks. Harsh in words, but gentle
in deeds, he has given you this refuge, freeing you from the slavery of
poverty, from the sorrow of being homeless. But tell it not, Wilhelmine.
The king would be angry if it were known that he not only tolerated but
showed great generosity to you. It is a secret that I ought not even
to disclose to you. I could not receive your thanks, for I have not
deserved them. From the king comes your good fortune, not from me. The
day will come when I can requite you, when the poor crown prince becomes
the rich king. On that day the golden rain shall again shower upon
you, never to cease, and, vying with the shower of gold, the brightest
sunbeams play continually around you. As king, I will reward your
fidelity and love, which you have proved to the poor crown prince, with
splendor, power, and riches. Until then rejoice with the little that his
grace has accorded you, and await the much that love will one day bring
you. Farewell, Wilhelmine, the evening sets in, and I must forth to
Potsdam. The king would never pardon me if I did not pass the last
evening with my wife in the circle of my family. Farewell!"

He embraced her tenderly, and Wilhelmine accompanied the prince to the
carriage, and returned to survey anew the beautiful rooms which were now
her own possession. An unspeakable, unknown feeling was roused in her,
and voices, which she had never heard, spoke to her from the depths
of her heart. "You are no longer a despised, homeless creature," they
whispered. "You have a home, a foot of earth to call your own. Make
yourself a name, that you may be of consequence in the world. You are
clever and beautiful, and with your prudence a