be no more aware of it
Than the bright stone he wears upon his hand.

[_They surround him, the pages illuminating the scene._]

ELECTOR (_bending over the_ PRINCE).
What leaf is it he binds? Leaf of the willow?

HOHENZOLL. What! Willow-leaf, my lord? It is the bay,
Such as his eyes have noted on the portraits
Of heroes hung in Berlin's armor-hall.

ELECTOR. Where hath he found that in my sandy soil?

HOHENZOLL. The equitable gods may guess at that!

GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING.
It may be in the garden, where the gardener
Has nurtured other strange, outlandish plants.

ELECTOR. Most curious, by heaven! But what's the odds?
I know what stirs the heart of this young fool.

HOHENZOLL. Indeed! Tomorrow's clash of arms, my liege!
Astrologers, I'll wager, in his mind
Are weaving stars into a triumph wreath.

[_The_ PRINCE _regards the wreath._]

GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING. Now it is done!

HOHENZOLLERN. A shame, a mortal shame,
That there's no mirror in the neighborhood!
He would draw close to it, vain as any girl,
And try his wreath on, thus, and then again
This other way--as if it were a bonnet!

ELECTOR. By faith! But I must see how far he'll go!

[_The_ ELECTOR _takes the wreath from the_ PRINCE'S _hand while the
latter regards him, flushing. The_ ELECTOR _thereupon twines his
neck-chain about the wreath and gives it to the_ PRINCESS. _The_
PRINCE _rises in excitement, but the_ ELECTOR _draws back with the_
PRINCESS, _still holding the wreath aloft. The_ PRINCE _follows her
with outstretched arms._]

THE PRINCE (_whispering_).
Natalie! Oh, my girl! Oh, my beloved!

ELECTOR. Make haste! Away!

HOHENZOLLERN. What did the fool say?

GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING. What?

[_They all ascend the stair to the terrace._]

THE PRINCE. Frederick, my prince! my father!

HOHENZOLLERN. Hell and devils!

ELECTOR (_backing away from him_).
Open the gate for me!

THE PRINCE. Oh, mother mine!

HOHENZOLL. The raving idiot!

ELECTRESS. Whom did he call thus?

THE PRINCE (_clutching at the wreath_).
Beloved, why do you recoil? My Natalie!

[_He snatches a glove from the_ PRINCESS' _hand._]

HOHENZOLL. Heaven and earth! What laid he hands on there?

COURTIER. The wreath?

NATALIE. No, no!

HOHENZOLLERN (_opening the door_). Hither! This way, my
liege!
So the whole scene may vanish from his eye!

ELECTOR. Back to oblivion, with you, o