ted on the fauteuil near her couch. The prince
obeyed, but he was absent-minded and restless, and the more the queen
endeavored to engage him in harmless and unconstrained conversation, the
more monosyllabic and preoccupied he became. The poor prince remembered
only that his beloved was so near, that only a door separated them, and
prevented him from gazing on her beauty.

Yes, Louise was really in the next room, in the cabinet of the queen,
sorrowful and exhausted; she had fallen upon the little sofa near the
door, the smile had left her lips, and her brilliant, bewitching eyes
were filled with tears. Louise wept; she wept for her last youthful
dream, her last hope of happiness and virtue, for her sad, shadowed
future and wounded pride; for to-day she had to resign forever the
proud hopes, the brilliant future for which she had striven with so much
energy.

But it was vain to struggle against this hard necessity. The king had
given her his orders and was there to see them carried out. He sat
behind that portiere that led into the grand saloon; he had just left
Louise, and, before going, had said to her, in a stern, commanding tone:

"You will fulfil my commands accurately. You know that Fritz Wendel
still lives, and that I shall be inexorable if you do not act as you
have promised."

Louise submitted respectfully to the king's commands; she accepted her
fate, but she wept bitterly, and when she felt that the king's eyes
were no longer upon her, her tears flowed unceasingly. Perhaps Frederick
still saw her, or suspected her weakness, for the portiere opened
slightly, and his noble, but stern countenance appeared.

"Madame," he said, "if the prince sees you with tearful eyes, he will
not believe in your happiness."

Louise smiled painfully. "Ah! sire, he will believe I am weeping for
joy. I have often heard of joyful tears."

The king did not reply; he felt for her agony, and closed the partiere.

"I will cry no more," she said; "I have accepted my destiny, and will
fulfil it bravely for the sake of my daughter. It concerns Camilla's
happiness more than my own. I will deserve the respect of my unfortunate
child."

In saying this, a smile like a sunbeam illuminated her countenance.
But now she started up, and laid her hand in terror upon her heart.
She heard steps approaching. The door moved, and in a moment the king
appeared and motioned to her.

"Courage, courage!" murmured Louise, and with instinctive fear