ing. "There
are ways enough. I will make known my wishes to the prince; I will
command him to leave you, and have no further communication with you."

"Sire," she answered, gently, "I know that the prince is an obedient
and respectful subject and servant to his king in all things, but this
command he would not obey."

"He would not dare to brave my commands!"

"He would not brave them, sire. Oh, no; it would be simply impossible to
obey them."

"What would hinder him?"

"Love, sire; the respect which he owes to me as the mother of his two
children--who has consecrated her love, her honor to him, and of whom no
one can say that she has injured the fidelity which she has sworn to
the prince--to the man of her first and only love--even with a word or
look."

"You mean to say, that I cannot separate you from the prince but by
force?"

"Yes, your majesty," cried she, with conscious power, "that is exactly
what I mean."

"You will find yourself deceived; you will be made to realize it," said
the king, with a menacing tone. "You know nothing of the power that lies
in a legitimate marriage, and what rivals legitimate children are, whom
one dares acknowledge before God--before the world. Boast not of the
love of the prince, but remember that an honorable solitude is the only
situation becoming to you. Such connections bear their own curse and
punishment with them. Hasten to avoid them. Lastly, I would add, never
dare to mingle your impure hands in the affairs of state. I have been
obliged to give the order to the state councillors in appointments and
grants of office, not to regard the protection and recommendation of a
certain high personage, as you are the real protectress and bestower of
mercy. Take care, and never let it happen again. You will never venture
to play the little Pompadour here, nor anything else but what your
dishonor allows you; otherwise you will have to deal with me! You say
that you have read Homer; then, doubtless, you remember the story of
Penelope, who, from conjugal fidelity, spun and wove, undoing at night
what she had woven by day. It is true, you bear little resemblance to
this chaste dame, but you might emulate her in spinning and weaving; and
if you are not in future retiring, I can easily make a modern Penelope
of you, and have you instructed in spinning, for which you will have the
best of opportunities in the house of correction at Spandau. Remember
this, and never permit yourself to