had
just arrived from Koenigsberg."

"Show him in at once," exclaimed Schill, but, in his impetuosity, he
himself led the way and opened the door.

"Come in, Mr. High-Chamberlain, and forgive me for making you wait even
a moment," he said, offering his hand to M. von Schladen, and conducting
him into his sitting-room. "You come from Koenigsberg?"

"Yes, major, and I bring you greetings from your friends, from the
brethren of the great league, and also from the king and the queen."

"She really told you to greet me in her name?" asked Schill. "Oh, do not
deceive me; tell me the truth! Did the queen really tell you that?"

"She did more than that, major," said M. von Schladen, smiling; "she
intrusted to me a present for you, which I am to deliver to yourself,
and which she made for you with her own hands."

At this moment Schill was a truly handsome man. If the ladies and the
painters of Berlin had seen him just then, they would have been
transported at his noble countenance, as his black eyes sparkled with
joy. "The queen sends me a present!" he exclaimed--"a present which she
herself has made!"

"Yes, and on which she inscribed your name with her own hand, that it
might be to you a plain and undeniable proof of her favor."

"Oh, give it to me, sir!" exclaimed Schill, stretching out his hands.

M. von Schladen drew a small package, wrapped in paper, from his bosom,
and handed it to Schill.

"On my knees will I receive this present from my queen!" exclaimed
Schill. "Oh, it seems to me as though she were standing before me,
looking at me with that sad smile which brings tears into the eyes of
all who behold her! When I was at Koenigsberg the other day, it was
permitted me to speak to her, and press my lips on her hand. With that
kiss I devoted myself to her for my whole life, and she is ever before
my eyes, clothed in a sort of divine beauty--as a Madonna holding the
Messiah of Freedom in her arms! And the noble queen, to whom I pray
every night as to a saint, sends me a present which she has made for me
with her own hands? Oh, am I worthy of such kindness; have I done any
thing entitling me to such a proof of condescension on her part, and am
I thus honored by her who is the guardian angel of Prussia!--whom
Napoleon hates, because he fears her zeal and fidelity. As a vestal, she
has kept alive the fire of patriotism on the altar of her country. When
all despair, she still hopes for the redemption of her people