ne possessed.

"Ah, my prince!" she murmured softly and reproachfully, "you see that it
is I who have waited."

The prince did not answer, but conducted her hastily through the crowd.
They had soon reached the end of the saloon. A small flight of steps
led them to a little boudoir opening on a balcony. Into this boudoir
Pollnitz led the silent pair, then bowing low he left them.

"My God! your highness, if we should be surprised here!"

"Fear nothing, we will not be surprised. Pollnitz guards the door. Now,
as we are alone and undisturbed, let us lay aside our disguises."

Thus speaking, the supposed prince removed his mask and laid it upon the
table.

"The king!" cried Louise, terrified and stepping back.

The king's eyes rested upon her with a piercing glance. "What!" he
asked, "are you still acting? You appear astonished; and still you must
have known me. Who but the king would show the beautiful Madame von
Kleist such an honor? In what other cavalier could you place such
perfect confidence as to accompany him into this lonely boudoir? With
whom but the king could you have trusted your fair fame? You need not
be alarmed; to be in my presence is to be under my protection--the kind
guardianship of your king. I thank you that you knew me, and, knowing
me, followed me trustingly."

The searching glance of the king alarmed Louise; his mocking words
bewildered her, and she was incapable of reply.

She bowed silently, and allowed herself to be conducted to the divan.

"Sit down, and let us chat awhile," said the king. "You know I hate the
noise of a feast, and love to retire into some corner, unnoticed and
unseen. I had no sooner discovered the fair Louise under this charming
costume, than I knew I had found good company. I ordered Pollnitz
to seek out for us some quiet spot, where we might converse freely.
Commence, therefore."

"Of what shall I speak, your majesty?" said Louise, confused and
frightened. She knew well that the king had not found her by chance, but
had sought her with a determined purpose.

"Oh! that is a question whose naivete reminds me of the little Louise
Schwerin of earlier days. Well, let us speak on that subject which
interests most deeply all who know you; let us speak of your happiness.
You sigh. Have you already paid your tribute? Do you realize the
fleetness of all earthly bliss?"

"Ah! your majesty, an unhappy marriage is the most bitter offering
that can be made to experience,"