--a woman's love!" said Pueckler, with a contemptuous
shrug of his shoulders. "I wish I resembled you; we then might be like
cooing doves in the myrtle-tree. But my heart is rather that of an
eagle--longing for the sun; and as he has set on earth, I shall fly
after him. Farewell, Camilla, farewell! Forget me not, and be happy!" He
imprinted a hasty, glowing kiss on her lips, and then turned toward the
door.

Camilla rushed after him, and, clinging to him with both her hands,
exclaimed: "Frederick, what are you going to do?"

"I go to the land of liberty, and will do what honor commands," he said,
disengaging himself from her grasp, and rushing from the room.

"Frederick! Frederick!" she cried, in the utmost terror, running to the
door; she could not open it, for he had locked it outside. "I must
follow and save him," she exclaimed, and gliding across the room, she
opened a small secret door in the opposite wall; scarcely touching the
floor, she passed through the parlor, without taking any notice of her
parents, who were sitting on the divan, and asked her in surprise for
the cause of her hurry and agitation. She did not see that they were
following her; nor did she hear them call her. Onward, onward she went
through the room to the corridor, into the hall, and up the staircase.
She rushed to the upper floor, and rang the bell violently, when the
footman of Count Pueckler opened the door, and stared surprised at the
young countess. She passed him impetuously, and ran down the corridor
leading into the sitting-room of her betrothed. But it was locked.
Uttering a cry of despair, she sank breathless on her knees, and laid
her burning forehead against the door.

The old count, with his wife, followed by Count Pueckler's footman, now
approached. "My child, my child!" murmured the old countess, bending
over her daughter, "what has happened? Why are you so pale? Why do you
weep?"

Camilla looked up to her with streaming eyes. "Mother," she exclaimed,
in a heart-rending voice, "mother, he will kill himself!"

"Who?" asked her father, aghast.

"My betrothed," she gasped faintly. "With a more generous and scrupulous
regard for his honor than we are manifesting for ours, he will not
survive the disgrace of his country. As Breslau is doomed, he will die!
As I did not care to die with him, he angrily repulsed me, and went up
to his room to die alone. Oh, mother, father, have mercy on my anguish!
Help me to save him!"

"Is