"My God!" said the Princess, with an expression of horror, "how know you that, count?"

"My most gracious Princess, I have a magician in my service, who acquaints me with everything that happens here at court and, above all things, in the palace of the Queen of Bohemia, and first of all in the apartments of the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine."

"And the name of this magician is?"

"Ducato, sweetest Princess, Ducato. Ah! if you knew what dear, precious secrets this magician has imparted to me, how loquaciously he blabs out to me everything that the fairest Princess in the world thinks and does by day and by night! I know, for example, how the lovely Princess stays with her mother with ever so much seriousness, goes with her to church, visits respectfully the Stadtholder of Holland, and fondles and pets the little Princess Louise; how she carries on her studies, plays the lute, paints and sings. But, God be thanked! life consists not entirely of days, but happily has its nights likewise."

"What do you mean by that, Sir Count d'Entragues?"

"I mean," replied the Count, while he smilingly bent over closer to the Princess—"I mean that here at The Hague there is a wonderful, charming combination of young gentlemen and noble young ladies, who have laid themselves out expressly to embellish these nights, and to indemnify themselves for their somber, gloomy days by joyous, merry nights. It is a secret order, into which it is a distinguished honor to be received, and which is shrouded in deepest secrecy. Never would a lady own that she belongs to it, and yet they say that the fairest, most exalted, most virtuous ladies press to be received into this order. It is not known of any of the ladies of the court that they belong to it, but it is suspected of each. No one can say that he has seen this or that one among the noble and virtuous ladies there, for at all the reunions of the members of the order the ladies wear small half-masks, and it is the first and most sacred law of the order that no man dares to lay so much as a finger upon this mask—this precious secret of the ladies. Moreover, they appear only in Grecian robes, so that it is difficult to recognize the beautiful forms of the ladies again in their elaborate court dresses and with their stiff Fontanges. The name of this secret society is Media Nocte, and it is especially an honor to belong to it, for nobody is admitted who has not stood his probation—that is to say, shown that he has acquired considerable proficiency in some art, and excels in it. He, therefore, who can not sing or play on the lute, paint or improvise, speak eloquently, or by some gift contribute to the enjoyment of the company, can never arrive at the distinction of becoming a member of this order. When, therefore, it is whispered of a gentleman that he belongs to the order, he is supposed to be not merely an accomplished gentleman, but an entertaining companion, a favorite of the Muses. If this secret is whispered of a lady, then we look upon her with admiration, rapture, joy for we know that we have before us one of those choice, enchanting, and rare beings, who are exalted above all prejudice; who believe not, with zealots and ascetics, that we live only to die, but who joyfully acknowledge that we live to live, and, therefore, that the noblest, worthiest task proposed is to render this life as pleasant as possible."

"Why do you tell me all this, dear count?" asked the Princess impatiently.

"It is true," replied he, smiling; "why should I tell you what you know already? I tell it to your highness in order to prove to you that I, thanks to my little magician Ducato, know the secret of the Media Nocte; I tell it to you in order now to whisper a secret in your ear: the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine belongs to the society, she is a member of the order of the Media Nocte."

The Princess only with difficulty suppressed a shriek, and stared with horror at the smiling countenance of the young count.

"Hush, gracious lady, hush!" whispered the latter while he took her hand and imprinted a reverential kiss upon the tips of her rosy fingers. "Why should you wish to deny what is so genial and so delightful? My magician Ducato always tells me the truth; why should we dispute it? But it was not that which your highness wished to learn of me. You would ask me, how I know that the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg loves the beautiful Princess Ludovicka Hollandine, and was to have his first rendezvous with her to-day. Once more, it is the magician Ducato who has told me that; yes, that good, obliging magician has done yet more for me. He put into my hands the pretty little note which the Princess Ludovicka sent yesterday through her confidential maid-servant to the confidential valet of the Electoral Prince, before the Prince had read it himself."

"That is shameful—that is unheard of!" said the Princess, with glowing cheeks and tears in her eyes. "It is an abominable piece of deceit on the part of my maid, and she shall pay for it. To-morrow morning I shall dismiss her, and—"

"That she may tell all the world the little secrets of her exalted mistress?" asked Count d'Entragues. "Oh, no, your highness; the maid is perfectly innocent of deceit, and it was only the magician Ducato who played the Princess's pretty little note into my hands. And will my sweetest lady know now what I did with the little note? I read it first, then—saw there that a rendezvous was granted the Prince at one o'clock. I took a very small sharp knife and—"

"And? My God, go on! What did you with the knife?"

"I very delicately erased and altered the number from a one into a two. Then I refolded the note, and handed it to my magician for further preferment to the Prince."

"The Electoral Prince has received my note, then?" asked the Princess. "He will consequently—"

"Come at two o'clock, instead of one o'clock," replied the count, and he intercepted the look which Ludovicka cast upon the large French clock upon the mantelpiece. "Yes, we have just a half hour before the Prince makes his appearance, and I hope that will suffice to obtain your highness's pardon for my boldness, and to establish a good understanding between myself and the most spirituelle, most genial, and most beautiful Princess of all the European courts. Will your highness be kind enough to grant me a hearing?"

The Princess smiled imperceptibly. "The question comes somewhat late," she said. "If you had asked it while you stood there on the windowsill, before you came into my room, then I should have replied: 'No, be off! No, you are a shameless person, who has dared to spy out my secrets, to bribe my servants, and to deceive me, while he approaches me in a way that he knew perfectly was not open to him.' But you are here now; alas! I have not the power to expel you, and to punish you before all the world as you deserve."

"O Princess! as if your harsh and cruel words were not a punishment, which touches my heart more sensibly than the cut of a sword or thrust of a dagger!"

The Princess seemed not to have heard these words of the count, spoken with artistic effect, and continued: "You are here now, and I will at least know what inspired you to run this unheard-of risk of forcing yourself upon my notice. I am therefore ready to listen to you, on condition that you try to be short and not burden me too long with your presence."

"Permit me to thank you, most condescending Princess," cried the count, while he sank from the ottoman down upon his knees, and pressed his glowing lips upon the hem of the Princess's robe. "I thank you, and swear that I will not overstep the limit prescribed, and depart at two with the first stroke of the clock."

"Rise, count, rise and speak," said Ludovicka, in commanding tones, and with the full dignity of a Princess.

Count d'Entragues again resumed his seat upon the divan. "Your highness commands now that I explain how I could have dared to come here?"

"I confess that I am very anxious to hear this explanation."

"Well, then, your highness is young, very young indeed, hardly eighteen years old, but you possess, in addition to a soft and tender heart, an almost masculine intellect. I apprehend from this that you interest yourself in politics."

"There you are entirely mistaken, count. I hate, I abhor politics, and when my mother proposes to talk politics with me I always run away."

"That is bad, very bad, your highness; for I am forced to talk politics to you. But I shall not be tedious, but limit myself to what is absolutely necessary. I shall therefore begin, in order to give your highness a proof of my reverential, unlimited confidence, by telling you what no one here knows—by telling you why I have been sent here and what my errand is. Princess, I have been ostensibly sent here to the Stadtholder of Orange and as ambassador from the King of France to the Sovereign States. In reality, I have been sent to two entirely different persons—to the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg and to the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine."

"To me?" asked the Princess, and her beautiful face expressed the most undisguised astonishment.

"Yes, to yourself, most gracious Princess. And does your highness know why? Because our spies here, as well as the gentlemen of the French embassy to Holland, had reported that the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg was smitten with the most glowing love for your highness."

The Princess blushed with pleasure, and a wondrous smile lit up her radiant countenance. "But," asked she, "how does it concern the court of France whom the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg loves?"

"It concerns the court of France very nearly, your highness. I can not avoid now burdening your highness a little with hated politics, while I explain to you how it comes that the love of the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg is a state affair for the European courts. It comes from this, your highness, because the Electoral Prince, however small and insignificant his house, however inconsiderable, too, his future realm of Brandenburg, is still a very important personage. Three crowns are hovering in the air above his head, and if he obtains all three he will be a mighty Prince, and his sword may turn the scale in the balance of peace and war."

"What three crowns are those which hover thus above the Prince's head?"

"There is first the crown of the dukedom of Prussia, with which the King of Poland has to invest the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg, and which the Elector of Saxony would be too glad to see fall upon his own head. Then, in the second place, there is the crown of the duchy of Pomerania, which belongs to the house of Brandenburg by right of inheritance, and which the Swedes are struggling for; and finally, in the third place, there is the crown of the duchy of Cleves, Juliers, and Berg, which the Emperor of Germany has indeed adjudged to that house, but which is so torn by Hessians and Spaniards, by the States, by the Swedes and various robbers, that probably hardly anything at all of it will be left. But nevertheless, there it is, and if the future Elector of Brandenburg actually succeeds in uniting upon his own head these three crowns, besides the electoral hat of Brandenburg, then he will be mighty and influential, and have a full sounding voice in the concert of the European princes. But now you must know that the Elector of Brandenburg is sickly, and has not many more years to live. Then the Electoral Prince Frederick William becomes his successor, and it is only needful to have seen the Prince for a few hours, to have looked into his fiery eyes, to be made aware that he will not tread in his father's footsteps, that he will not be the submissive vassal of the German Emperor, a mere tool in the hands of his minister, but that his efforts will be directed to making himself a free, independent Prince, and his country a strong, powerful, and self-sustaining state. The Minister von Schwarzenberg, the almighty representative of the present Elector, knows this very well, and on this account dreads and hates the Electoral Prince; he has therefore removed him from his father's court in order to take away all influence from him, and he would esteem himself happy if some lucky accident or criminal hand should free him from this inconvenient successor to the throne. But heretofore accident has not favored him; nor has he yet dared to press the murderous hand into his service; and he has therefore been compelled to devise some other method for securing his future, and so enchaining the Electoral Prince that he, too, may remain the Emperor's obedient vassal. As the best means for attaining this object it has occurred to them to bind the Electoral Prince to the German imperial house by marriage, and to receive him into the Hapsburg family. The Archduke Leopold, the future Emperor, has a very pretty daughter. She is intellectual, ardent, a strict Catholic, and has at heart the greatness of the Hapsburg house and the German Emperor. This princess, or rather archduchess, has been selected for the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg, and on that account the Electoral Prince is now to return home, for the Elector and his Minister Schwarzenberg are much bent upon the imperial alliance, and have already promised that the Electoral Prince shall make a visit to the imperial court. But, excuse me, I am misusing your indulgence, Princess. I am holding forth to you a long-winded political harangue, forgetting entirely how you hate politics, what a heinous crime I am committing, and that I weary you."

"You do not weary me at all," replied Ludovicka quickly. "On the contrary, you interest me greatly. Only go on. I am listening attentively. You said that the Electoral Prince was to return home in order to make a visit to the imperial court, and to marry an archduchess of Austria?"

"Pardon me, your highness. I only said this was the new plan of the imperial court, and consequently of the Minister Schwarzenberg and his Elector. And, indeed, the plan is good, for the son-in-law of the Emperor would be wholly dependent upon Austria, and if then the three pending crowns should settle upon his brow, it would be the same as if Austria herself wore them. Then they would cause the young married couple to make an agreement respecting claims of inheritance, in accordance with which the survivor should become heir to the first deceased. Then, some day, the Electoral Prince, or the young Elector, would have the misfortune to fall from his horse, or be pierced while hunting by some missent bullet, or fall a victim to a sudden problematical sickness; in short, he would die, and his wife would be his heiress, and through her the Electoral Mark Brandenburg, the duchies of Prussia, Pomerania, and Cleves, accrue to the imperial house. This would be then to put an end to the long, fearful war, to make peace with Sweden by relinquishing Pomerania to her, and, in order to see this war finally ended, which has desolated the whole of Germany, the other German powers would acquiesce in Pomerania becoming Swedish, and Cleves, Brandenburg, and Prussia Hapsburgian."

"Sir Count!" cried the Princess, "now you become tiresome, for you have digressed from your subject!"

"From the Electoral Prince? Oh, no; I have already come to him again, fairest Princess! I said all Germany would consent to this marriage. Poland, too, would rather invest the Catholic imperial house with the Prussian crown than the reformed Elector, and prefer an Austrian neighbor as friend to a Russian; only two European powers would look askance upon this union, and consequently do all they possibly could to prevent its consummation."

"And who are these two powers, Sir Count?"

"One power is France, who would never consent to so striking an aggrandizement of the house of Austria, and can not passively submit to see it spread itself so extensively north, west, and east."

"And the second power, count?"

"The second power is the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine of the Palatinate, who would never give up the handsome Electoral Prince, and would snatch at any means of preventing his marriage with any one else. Will you condescend to acknowledge that I have told the truth?"

"Yes!" cried the Princess passionately—"yes, you have told the truth! I love him, and the only happiness upon earth for me is in becoming his wife!"

"Princess, I presume to make a proposal to you. Let the two powers that wish not the marriage with an Austrian archduchess conclude together a league offensive and defensive. The power France accedes to this with joy. It promises to further and support the second power in all her plans, to lend her efficient aid, that the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine may wed the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg."

"Oh, heavens, count, you would do that, you—"

"France will do that, not I," said the count passionately. "No, not I, Princess, for you know well that I was rash enough to lift my eyes to your heavenly apparition, my heart—But hush, you poor, foolish heart, suffer and be dumb, sacrifice yourself, and only busy yourself in making happy the sweet object of your warm and glowing love! Princess, you love the Electoral Prince! France offers you her assistance that you may marry him. This marriage will throw the Elector as well as the German Emperor into the greatest rage; they will both refuse their consent; they will require Holland to deliver up the Electoral Prince; they will proclaim invalid the marriage between two minor lovers, and will cut off the Electoral Prince from all means of subsistence."

"Oh, that is shocking, you give me a glimpse of a background which fills me with dread and horror," lamented the Princess.

"Fear nothing, dread nothing," whispered the count. "France is here to support you. France offers the young couple an asylum in Paris, and will receive them at her court with pleasure. France will take care that the Electoral Prince and his wife want for nothing; she will pay him rich subsidies, contribute vast sums of money that the Electoral Prince may present his young bride with a costly outfit; and finally, in the name of her mother, the Electress of the Palatinate, provide the Princess with a truly princely income."

"How kind, how generous that is of France!" cried Ludovicka. "It will promote my happiness, it will aid me in being united with my beloved; it thereby pledges me to eternal gratitude, and never shall I forget that I owe to France the happiness of my whole life."

"And that, adored Princess, that is the only thing that France claims for its good offices—a little gratitude! A faithful remembrance of its good offices rendered, the sure promise that the Elector Frederick William of Brandenburg will never range himself on the side of the enemies of France, never league himself with the house of Austria against France, but forever remain the faithful ally and friend of France!"

"I promise you that—I give you my solemn word for it! Oh, we are no ingrates, to reward you with ingratitude; be sure and certain of that. The Electoral Prince loves me; he will bid all welcome that makes a union with me possible; he will be eternally grateful to those who will lend us a helping hand."

"And—forgive me, your highness, for asking one question—has he offered you his hand; has he made you a formal proposal of marriage?"

"He has sworn a thousand times that he loves me; he has so long and so often besought me to grant him an interview that I have at last done so—all the rest follows."

"Now," said the count, with a meaning smile, "that is just as one may take it. In any case, this interview will be useful and to the purpose, and your highness must now bring the Prince to declare himself formally."

"My heavens!" cried the Princess impatiently, "I tell you that he has very often declared himself, that he has sworn to me a thousand times that of all the world he loves me, and me alone! What more would you have him say?"

"Princess, you are an angel of innocence and maidenly simplicity. When I say the Prince must declare himself, I mean by that that he must sue for your hand; he must say to you in so many words that he wishes to marry you."

"Good! he shall do so, even to-day. Oh, sir, it pleases you to doubt the love of the Electoral Prince? You dare to think it possible that he may be only amusing himself with me—that he has no serious designs? I shall prove to you that you are mistaken—that you wrong me and the Electoral Prince alike by your doubt. This very night he shall offer me his hand—this very night I shall engage myself to him!"

"And to-morrow night the nuptials must take place!" cried the count.

The Princess shrank back and a glowing blush overspread her cheeks. "So soon—to-morrow night?" she murmured. "My God! this haste—"

"Is necessary, if the marriage is ever to take place at all, Princess. There is a common but very wise proverb which says, 'Strike while the iron is hot.' Strike, Princess, strike, for I tell you what does not happen to-morrow night will be utterly impossible the day after. We have fortunately our secret agents everywhere, as well here as at the courts of Berlin and Koenigsberg, and we therefore know that both Count Schwarzenberg and the Elector have sent their messengers here to induce the Electoral Prince to a speedy departure, and to threaten him with his father's wrath in case he should allow himself to marry the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine."

"But that is abominable!" cried the Princess, with tears in her eyes. "One of these messengers," continued the count, "and indeed the messenger of Count Schwarzenberg, as I suspect, has already arrived this evening, and the Electoral Prince has already received him. The other will probably come to-morrow, and if you then still delay, if you do not surprise the Prince in the first storm of his indignation, and thereby lead him to bind himself to you by a secret marriage, then all is lost, and the two powers Hollandine and France are conquered by Brandenburg and Austria."

"That shall not be!" cried the Princess, jumping up, and with hasty steps moving to and fro. "No, we are not to be conquered! They shall not tear my beloved from me!"

"Well, Princess, if you are firmly resolved, then I beg as a favor to be allowed to be of service to you."

"Yes, help me—advise me."

"I have counted upon your love and your energy, Princess, and therefore have already drawn up a stated plan. Will you hear it?"

"Not merely hear, but execute it, too, if it is at all practicable," cried Ludovicka, while she remained standing in the center of the room, and turned her large, flaming eyes upon the count, who had likewise arisen and advanced smilingly toward her.

"Well, then, Princess, the plan is short and simple. The Prince makes you to-night his offer of marriage."

"Yes, this very night," said she, proudly.

"He swears that he will marry you as soon as possible."

"Oh, you may be sure of that; he will swear it to me."

"Own to him that you have friends on whose aid and assistance you can count, but let him not suspect who these friends are. Then lead the conversation to the Media Nocte—But, my heavens!" exclaimed the count, interrupting himself, while he looked as if accidentally at the clock, "it only wants now a few minutes of two o'clock, and the Electoral Prince will certainly come punctually, and therefore will be here directly. I have written out all that it is necessary that you will have the complaisance to do between this and to-morrow. Read it over at your leisure, and impress it rightly upon your mind. Here is the paper, and may my writing find a hearing and favor! If such be the case, as I hope and desire, then will your highness have the goodness to open your window a little at ten o'clock and display from it an orange-colored ribbon. All the rest will take care of itself, and what your highness has to do is on the paper. I hasten to withdraw, that your highness may have time to read my writing."

"But if the Prince should come now?" asked Ludovicka anxiously—"if he should see a man descending from my window?"

"You are right, Princess; that is to be dreaded; and I, too, have considered that. I will not leave through the window."

"Not through the window? But in what other way would you—"

"Go away, would you say? By yonder door! I know perfectly well that it leads into the Princess's private apartment, and thence into the antechamber. Oh, I know the Castle Doornward well, for is it not the residence of the Electress of the Palatinate and her fair daughter the Princess? Therefore I have had drawn out for myself an exact plan of it. Moreover, your waiting maid Alice awaits me in the antechamber. Forgive her for not having been able to withstand the persuasions of her compatriot, the magician Ducato. Alice will permit me to slip out of the castle by a back door. And now, adored Princess and exalted Electress of the future, permit your most faithful and devoted servant ere he depart once more to press your beloved hand to his lips, and to tell you how inexpressibly happy—and, alas! how inexpressibly wretched—it makes him that he can and—must assist in marrying the Princess Ludovicka to the Electoral Prince."

With a bewitching smile the Princess held out her hand to him. "Count d'Entragues," she said, "I shall be eternally grateful to you for your self-sacrifice and good faith. I shall esteem myself happy if some day I may find an opportunity of proving this to you. Farewell!"

He pressed a long, glowing kiss upon her hand. "Farewell!" he said. "When I see you again, Princess, I shall accompany you to the altar, and must witness the transformation of the Princess Ludovicka into an Electoral Princess of Brandenburg, and in my heart will be prayers, but also tears! Farewell!"

He sprang up, crossed the room with light, quick steps, unbolted the door, and vanished behind the curtain. The Princess watched him until he had disappeared, and, after she had convinced herself that he was actually gone, and had bolted the door again, she took out the paper and read over its contents slowly and with most serious attention.

As she read, brighter and brighter became her face, constantly more radiant the smile upon her rosy lips. "Yes," she cried, after she had twice read it through, "that will do—it shall be so! To-morrow in the Media Nocte I will—"

A loud shrill whistle sounded. "He comes!" whispered she, "he comes!"

With trembling hands she thrust the paper into a casket belonging to her writing table, and hurried to the window to open it and lower the rope ladder.

At this moment the whistle rang forth for the second time, its tones following one another in quick succession.

"It is he—it is my beloved," murmured Ludovicka, and with a happy smile she listened out into the night.



II.—THE ELECTORAL PRINCE.

The Princess had not long to wait. The groaning and creaking of the rope ladder already betrayed the presence of its burden. Ludovicka leaned farther out of the window and saw the dark shadow mount higher and higher; already she heard his breath, and now—oh, now he was there, swung himself in at the window, and without saying a word, without seeing anything but herself, only herself alone. He fell on his knees before the Princess, flung both arms round her waist, and, looking up at her with a beaming smile, whispered, "I thank you, Ludovicka, I thank you!"

She bent down to him with an expression of unutterable love, and their bright eyes met in a tender glance. They formed a beautiful picture, those two youthful figures combining in so lovely a group. She, bending over him with a look brimful of love, he gazing up at her with animated, radiant eyes. The full light of the wax candles in the silver chandelier illuminated his countenance, and Ludovicka looked down upon him with a smile as blissful as if she had now seen him for the first time.

"You are handsome," she whispered, softly, while with her white hand she stroked his dark-brown hair, which fell in long waving curls, like the mane of a lion, over both powerful shoulders. "Yes, you are handsome," she smilingly repeated, and playfully passed her hand over his features, over the lofty, thoughtful brow, the energetic, slightly prominent, aquiline nose, over the full glowing lips, which breathed an ardent kiss upon the hand that glided past.

"Now let me look into your eyes and see what is written in them," continued Ludovicka, and she stooped lower over the kneeling youth, and looked long into those large, dark-blue eyes, which gazed up at her, lustrous and bright as two twinkling stars.

"Have you read what is in my eyes?" he asked, after a long pause, in which only their glances and their beating hearts had spoken to one another. "Have you read it, my Ludovicka?"

With a charmingly pouting expression she shook her head. "No," said she sadly, "I can not read it, or perhaps there is nothing in them, or at least nothing for me!"

He jumped up, and, throwing his arms around her neck, leaned his face close against hers, flashed his burning glance deep into her eyes, and in doing so smiled a blissful, childlike smile.

"Now read," he said, almost imperiously—"read and tell me what is in my eyes!"

She slowly shook her head. "There is nothing in them," she whispered. "But, indeed, how can I know? The Electoral Prince Frederick William is so very learned, and it is only my own fault that I can not read what is in his eyes. It is written in Latin, or perhaps in Greek!"

"No, you mischievous, you cruel one," cried he impatiently. "You just will not understand and read what is plainly and intelligibly written in my eyes. My heart speaks neither Latin nor Greek, but German, and the eyes are the lips with which the heart speaks."

"Well then, tell me, Cousin Frederick William, what is in your eyes?"

"I will tell you, Cousin Ludovicka Hollandine. They say: I love you! I love you! And nothing but I love you!"

"But whom? To whom are these three little words addressed?"

"To you, you heartless, you wicked one, to you are these words addressed. But not little words are they, as you say; they are great words, full of meaning: for a world, a whole human life, my whole future, lies in these three words—I love you."

He embraced her and pressed her close to his heart, and Ludovicka leaned her head upon his shoulder and looked up at him with moist and glowing eyes. He nodded smilingly to her, and then took her head between his two hands and gazed long and rapturously upon her beautiful face.

"So I have you at last, and hold you, my golden butterfly," he said gently. "You are mine at last, and I hold you fast by your transparent wings, so that you can not flutter away from me again to fly up to the sun, the flowers, the trees! O my butterfly! you pretty creature, made of ethereal dust and rainbow splendor, of air and sunshine, of lightning flashes and icy coldness, are you actually mine, then? May I trust you? Think not I am only a poor little flower on which you may smilingly rock yourself an hour in the sunshine, and enjoy the perfume which mounts up from its heart's blood, and the love songs which its sighs waft to you in the breeze! Tell me, you butterfly, will you no more flutter away, but be true and never more distress and torment me?"

"I have never wished to distress and torment you, cousin."

"And yet you have done it, so often, so grievously!" cried he, and his handsome open countenance grew quickly dark, while his eyes flashed with indignation. "Ludovicka," he continued, "you have tortured and tormented me, and often when I have seen how you smiled upon others and exchanged glances with them, and allowed yourself to be pleased by their homage, their devotion—often have I felt then as if an iron fist had seized my heart to tear it from my breast, and felt as if I enjoyed this, and as if I exulted with delight over my own wrath. Tear out my foolish heart, you iron fist of pain, said I to myself; cast it far from me, this childish heart, for then shall I be happy and glad, then shall I no longer feel love but be freed from the fearful bondage it imposes upon me. How often, Ludovicka, how often have I been ashamed of these chains, and bitten at them, as the lion, languishing in a dungeon, bites at his."

"Truly, fair sir," cried Ludovicka, as arm in arm she and her beloved moved toward the divan—"truly, to hear you talk, one would suppose that love was a misfortune and a pain."

"It is so indeed," said he, almost savagely—"yes, love is a misfortune and a pain; for with love comes doubt, jealousy, and jealousy is the most dreadful pain. And then I have often said to myself as I wept about you for rage and woe because I have seen you more friendly with others than with me—I have often said to myself that it is unworthy of a man to allow himself to be subjected by love, unworthy to make a woman the mistress of his thoughts, of his desires; that a man should strive for higher aims, aspire to nobler things."

"To nobler things? Now tell me, you monster, is there anything nobler than a woman? Is there a higher aim than to win her love?"

"No; that is true, there is nothing higher!" cried he passionately. "No there is nothing nobler. Oh, forgive me, Ludovicka, I was a heathen, who denies his goddess, and finds fault with her out of excess of feeling. My God! I have suffered so much through you and your cruelty! And I tell you if you had not now at last heard my petition, at last granted me a rendezvous, then—"

"Then you would have killed yourself," interrupted she—"then you would have stabbed yourself on the threshold of my door, while you cursed me. Is not that what you would have said?"

"No; I would have found out the man whom you preferred to me, and I would have killed him, and you I would have despised—that is what I would have said. But no, no, I can not conceive of or imagine myself despising you—loving you no more! My whole soul is yours, and my heart flames up toward you as if it were one vast and living lake of fire. You smile; you do not believe me, Ludovicka! But I tell you, if you do not believe me, neither do you believe in love itself."

"I do not believe in it, either, cousin; and you are quite right, your heart is a lake of fire. You know, though, all fires become extinct?"

"When fuel is denied them, Ludovicka—not till then. They burn constantly, if supplied with constant fuel."

"So then, my Electoral Prince, my heart is the fuel you would require?"

"Yes, my Princess, I do require it. I implore it of you. Be good, Ludovicka, torment me not. Let me at last feel myself blessed—let me put my arm around you, and say and think, she is mine! mine she remains!"

"Mine she remains!" repeated Ludovicka, sighing. "Alas! Frederick, how long ere you will no longer wish that I were yours; how long ere all the oaths of your heart will be forgotten and forever hushed? I have heard it from all women—they all say that the love of men is perishable; that, like a flash of lightning, it shines forth with vivid blaze, then vanishes away."

"And they have all deceived you or been deceived themselves, Ludovicka. The love of men never expires, unless forcibly extinguished by women. Be trustful, my Ludovicka, trustful, and pious, and let love, holy and still, ardent and glowing, penetrate your heart, just as I do, without trembling, without hesitancy, and without the fear of men."

"You love me, then, love me truly?" asked Ludovicka, tenderly clinging to him.

"I love you with wrath and pain, love you with rapture and delight, love you in spite of the whole world! I will know nothing, consider nothing, hear nothing of the folly of the wise, of the irrationality of the rational, of the stupidity of the sage. I will know nothing and hear nothing, but that I love you! Just as you are, so cruel and so lovely, so coquettish and so innocent, so passionate and yet so cold. Oh, you are an enchantress, who has changed my whole being and taken possession of all my thoughts and all my feelings. Formerly I loved my parents, feared my father, respected my friend and early teacher, the faithful Leuchtmar, listened to his counsels, followed his advice. But now all that is past—all is swallowed up. I think only of you, only know you, only hear you."

"And yet a day will come when I shall call upon you in vain, a day when you shall no longer hear my voice."

"It will be the day of my death."

"No; the day when you leave this place. The day on which you return to your native land to become there a reigning lord, and leave the poor humbled Princess Ludovicka behind here deserted and alone."

"But you? Will you not go with me?" he asked, in amazement. "Will not my country be yours? And if I am a reigning lord, will you not stand as sovereign lady by my side?"

"I?" asked she, bewildered. "How do you mean? I do not understand you."

"I mean," he whispered softly, while he clasped her closely to himself—"I mean that you shall accompany me as my wife."

"But!" cried she, smiling, and with an expression of radiant joy—"but you have never said that I should be your wife."

"Have I not told you that I love you? Have I not been repeating to you for a year that I love you? And does it not naturally follow that you and you alone are to be my wife?"

"But they will not suffer it, Frederick!" cried she, with an expression of pain. "No, they will never suffer you to make me your wife."

"Who will not suffer it, Ludovicka?"

"Your parents will not suffer it, and the great Lord von Schwarzenberg, who rules your father, as my mother has told me, and Herr von Leuchtmar, who rules you and—"

"Nobody rules me," interrupted he indignantly, and a flush of anger or shame suffused his face. "No, nobody rules me, and I shall never be subject to any other will than my own."

"So you say now, Frederick, while you look into my eyes, while you are at my side. But to-morrow, when I am no longer by, when your tutor shall have proved with his cold, matter-of-fact arguments that the poor Princess Ludovicka is no fit match for the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg—to-morrow, when your tutor will chide his beloved pupil for ever having allowed so foolish a love to enter his heart, then—"

"I am a pupil no longer," interrupted he with glowing cheek. "I am seventeen years old, and no tutor has any more power over me."

She seemed not to have heard him, and continued in her sweet, melancholy voice: "To-morrow, when perhaps another messenger comes to summon you home, when he brings you a letter from your father with the command to set forth immediately, in which you are informed that he has selected a bride for you, oh, then will the Electoral Prince Frederick William be naught but the obedient son, who obeys his father's commands, who leaves this country to seek his native land, and to wed the bride who has been chosen for him by his father."

"No!" shouted the Electoral Prince fiercely, while he leaped up from the divan, and stamped his foot upon the ground—"I say no, and once more no. I shall not do what they order. I shall only follow my own will. And it is my will, my fixed, unalterable will, to make you my wife, and this will I shall carry into effect, despite my father, the German Emperor, and the whole world. Ludovicka, I here offer you my hand. Do you accept it? Will you be my wife?"

With a countenance irradiated by energy, pride, and love he held out his hand to her, and smilingly she laid her own small hand in his. "Yes," she said, "I will be your wife. With pride and joy I accept your beloved hand, and swear that I love you, and will honor and obey you as my lord and my beloved!"

He sank upon his knees before her, and kissed the hand which rested in his own. "Ludovicka Hollandine, Princess of the Palatinate," he said, with distinct and solemn voice, "I, Frederick William, Electoral Prince of Brandenburg, vow and swear hereby to love and be faithful to you ever as your wedded husband."

"I accept your oath, and return it!" she cried joyfully. "I, too, swear to love and be ever true to you, and to take you for my husband. And here you have my betrothal kiss, and here you have your destined bride. Take her, and love her a little, for she loves you very much, and she will die of chagrin if you forget her!"

"I shall never forget you, Ludovicka!" cried he, tenderly embracing her. "Storms indeed will come, violent tempests will rage about us, but I rejoice in them. For strength is tried by storms, and when it thunders and lightens I can then prove to you that my arm is strong enough to protect you, and that you are safe from all danger upon my heart."

"O Frederick! and still, still would they separate us. My mother just said to me yesterday, 'Take care not to love the Electoral Prince seriously, for he can never be your husband.' And when, trembling and weeping, I asked the reason, she at last replied, 'Because you are a poor Princess, and because the misfortunes of your house overshadow you likewise.' The Elector and his minister will never give their consent to such a union, and the Electoral Prince will never have the spirit to be disobedient to his father and to marry in opposition to his wishes."

She darted a quick, searching glance at his face, and saw how he reddened with indignation. "I shall prove to your mother that she is mistaken in me," he said vehemently. "I am indeed yet young in years, but I feel myself in heart a man who bows to no strange will, and is only obedient to the law of his conscience and his own judgment. I love you, Ludovicka, and I will marry you!"

"If they give us time, Frederick," sighed Ludovicka. "If they do not force me first to wed some other man."

"What do you say?" cried the Electoral Prince, growing pale, as he clasped his beloved yet closer to his side. "Could it be possible that—"

"That they sell and barter me away, just as they do other princesses? Yes, alas! it is possible. Ay, Frederick, more than possible—it is certain that they have such views. Wherefore think you, then, that the Electoral Prince of Hesse is here—that he came yesterday with my uncle, the Stadtholder, to visit my mother, and that he was even presented to me in my own apartment? O Frederick! my mother has told me it is a settled thing—that the Electoral Prince of Hesse has come to marry me. They have already made arrangements, and got everything in readiness. Day after to-morrow is to be the day for his formal wooing, and if you do not save me, if you know of no way of escape, then in eight days I shall be the bride of the Electoral Prince of Hesse. I had planned, Frederick, to try you first—to hear from yourself whether you actually loved me, whether your love was earnest. Had I discovered that you were only making sport of my heart, had you not formally offered me your hand and sued for me as your wife, then would I have gone silently away, would have buried my love in the depths of my soul, sacrificed myself to my mother's wishes and the misfortune of my house, and become the wife of the Electoral Prince of Hesse. But you do love me, you offer me your hand, and now I confess my love openly and joyfully—now I cast myself in your arms and entreat you: Save me, my Frederick, do not let them tear me away from you! Save me from the Electoral Prince of Hesse!"

She flung both her arms around him, pressed him closely to her, and looked up to him with tenderly beseeching eye. With passionate warmth the Electoral Prince kissed those alluring eyes and lips responding to his pressure. "You shall be mine, you must be mine, for I love you inexpressibly. I can not, I will not live without you!"

"Let us fly, my beloved," whispered she, always holding him in her embrace.

"Let us fly before the wrath of your father, before the courtship of the Electoral Prince of Hesse. Let us preserve our love in some quiet corner of the earth; let us fly where no one can follow us, where your father's will and his minister's hate can have no power—let us fly!"

"Yes," said he, clasping closer in his arms the tender, glowing creature who clung so affectionately to him—"yes, let us fly, my beloved. They shall not tear you from me; I will have you, in spite of them all—you shall be mine, even though the whole world should rise up in opposition. To-morrow night let us make our escape. You are right; there must be some quiet corner of the world where we can hide ourselves, living for happiness, for love alone, until it is permitted us to emerge from our seclusion, and assume the station in the world due to us both. Yes, we will flee, Ludovicka, we will flee, no matter where!"

"Oh, I hope I know a place of refuge, where we may be sheltered from the first wrath of our relatives, my Frederick. I have friends, influential, mighty friends, who will gladly furnish us with an asylum, and from whom we may accept it. To them I shall turn—to them apply for a retreat. They will provide us with the means for flight. Only, my beloved," she continued, hesitating and with downcast eyes, "only one thing is needful to enable me to flee with you."

"What is that, my beloved, tell me?"

"Frederick, I can only follow my husband, only go with you as your wife."

"Yes, you sweet, lovely girl, you can only follow me as your husband. To-morrow night we make our escape, and ere we escape we must be married, and a priest shall bless our love. You say you have influential and powerful friends here, and indeed I know that the richest, noblest men in Holland vie with one another for one kind glance from my Ludovicka. Oh, not in vain have the States stood godfather for my bride, and given her their name. Now will some rich, powerful citizen of Holland prove that he, too, is godfather to the lovely Princess Hollandine, and in Java or Peru, or perhaps on some ship, find us a republic. I accept it, beloved, I accept it, and swear beforehand that the future Elector shall reward the rich mynheer and the whole of Holland for the good now done to the Electoral Prince and his beloved Hollandine. Speak, therefore, to your good, rich friends; tell them they may help and assist us. I agree to everything, I accept everything. I only want you, you yourself, for you are my all, my life, my light!"

"You give me full power, then, to make arrangements for our flight, my Frederick?"

"I give you full power, my beloved; you are wiser, more thoughtful than I am; besides, you are not so strictly guarded, so encircled by spies as I am."

"No; to-morrow I am still free," exulted she—"to-morrow the Electoral Prince of Hesse has as yet no power over me, and no one will be observing me. My mother has been detained by sickness at The Hague, and here at Doornward there are no spies. Yes, I take charge of all, beloved. I shall manage everything, and to-morrow night I shall expect you."

"To-morrow night I shall come here to take you away, my, beloved."

"No, not here, for to-morrow my mother comes home, and then the castle will no longer be so solitary and quiet; then there will be many people here, and our movements might be watched."

"Well, where else shall I find you, Ludovicka?"

She clung to him, and gazed tenderly into his glowing eyes. "Oh," she said, "you do not know what I have ventured and dared for you. Do you remember with what animation and rapture you spoke to me recently of the secret league which exists at The Hague, of the rare feasts which you solemnize there, of the pleasure and delight you experience there? Do you remember how you lamented that we could not enjoy this glorious companionship together, that I could not be there at your side? Well, see, beloved, now you must admit how much I love you, and how ready I am to please you. I have in perfect secrecy and silence had myself initiated into the order of the Media Nocte."

"You have done that?" cried the Prince, in joyful astonishment. "You belong to this glorious company of great minds, naming hearts, and noble souls? Oh, my Ludovicka, I recognize your love in this, and I thank you, and am proud of it that my betrothed belongs to the genial, the intellectual, and the elect. Oh, you are not merely my destined bride, you are my muse, my goddess, and in humility I bow my head before you, and I kiss the hem of your robe, beloved mistress, chosen one!"

He bent his knee and kissed her robe, and bowed lower to kiss the tiny foot in its blue satin shoe. Then he raised one of these pretty feet and kissed it again, and placed it on his breast, holding it fast there with both his hands.

"Mistress," he whispered, lifting up to her his countenance, beaming with love and enthusiasm—"mistress, your slave lies before you. Crush me, let me be dust beneath your feet, if you do not love me; let me die here, or swear to me that you will ever love me, that to-morrow night you will link your destiny indissolubly with mine!"

"I will ever love you," she breathed forth, with a magical smile; "to-morrow night I will link my fate to yours."

"Give me a pledge of your vow, a sign, a token of this hour!" entreated he, still holding the little foot between his hands.

"What sort of pledge do you require, beloved of my heart? Ask, command; whatever it may be, it shall be yours!"

With beaming, happy look he gazed upon her glowing countenance, and nodded to her, and whispered words full of tenderness and love, and at the same time with fondling hand loosened the silver buckle which fastened the blue satin shoe upon her foot, drew off the slipper from her little foot, whose rosy hue was transparent through the white silk stocking, and smilingly thrust it into the breast pocket of his velvet jacket. "But, Frederick, my shoe—give me back my shoe," said she, laughing; and her little hand and wondrous arm dived into his pocket to recover the stolen shoe. But the Prince held fast the little hand, whose warm, soft touch he felt to the deepest recesses of his heart, and pressed warm, glowing kisses on that ravishing arm, which seemed to quiver and tremble at the touch of his lips.

"My shoe," she breathed softly—"give me my shoe!"

"Never!" said he energetically. "No, I swear it, so truly as I love you, I shall never give back to you this precious jewel. Mine it remains, and not for all the treasures of the earth do I give it back again. Here, on my heart, it shall rest, the charming little shoe, and when I die it shall rest beside me in my coffin."

"No, no, I will have it again!" cried Ludovicka. "My heavens! what would my chambermaid say, if to-morrow morning one of my shoes had vanished—been spirited away?"

"Let her say and think what she pleases, dearest. Tell her you will direct her where to find it on the day after to-morrow. Think you not that when our flight is discovered, she will readily guess who has stolen your shoe?"

"But see, Frederick, see my poor foot; it is freezing, pining for its house!"

And smilingly Ludovicka extended toward the Prince her shoeless little foot. He took it between his hands and breathed on it with his glowing breath, and pressed upon it his burning lips.

"Forgive me, you beautiful foot, for having robbed you of your house. But look you, dear foot, the little house shall now become a sacred memento of my love and my betrothal; and look you, dear foot, I swear to you that you shall walk in pleasant paths. I shall strew flowers for you, you shall tread upon roses, and not a thorn shall prick you and not a stone bruise you. That I swear to you, you little foot of the great enchantress, and therefore forgive me my theft!"

"It shook its head, it will not!" cried Ludovicka, swinging her foot to and fro.

"It shall forgive, or I will punish its mistress!" cried the Prince, while he sprang up, ardently encircling his beloved with his arm. "Yes, you shall pay me for your cruel foot, and—"

All at once he became silent, and, hearkening, looked toward the wall. Ludovicka shrank back, and turned her eye to the same spot.

"Is there, a door there?" whispered he.

"Yes," she breathed softly, "a tapestry door leading to the small corridor, and thence into my sleeping apartment."

"Is any one in your sleeping room?"

"My little cousin, Louisa of Orange, who came to-day, and insisted upon staying here—Hush, for God's sake! she is coming. Hide yourself!"

He flew across the room and jumped behind the door curtain, through which d'Entragues had gone out a little while before. The curtain yet shook from the violence of his movement, when the little tapestry door on the other side was opened, and a lovely child appeared upon the threshold. A long white nightgown, trimmed with rose-colored favors, concealed the slender delicate form in its flowing drapery, falling from the neck to the feet, which, perfectly bare, peeped forth from beneath the white wrapper like two little rose-buds. Her fair hair was parted over the broad, open brow, and fell in long, heavy ringlets on each side of the lovely childish face. The big blue eyes looked so pious and innocent, and such a soft, gentle smile played about the fresh crimson lips! In this whole fair apparition there was such a wondrous magic, so superhuman a loveliness, that it might have been supposed that an angel from heaven had descended and was now entering this apartment, which was yet aglow with the sighs and protestations of passionate earthly love, and radiant as a consecrated altar taper shone the candle in the silver candlestick which she carried in her hand. Lightly and inaudibly the child tripped across the floor to the Princess, who had thrown herself upon the divan, and assumed the appearance of just being aroused from a deep slumber.

"Forgive me, dear, beautiful Aunt Ludovicka," said the little girl, in a low, soft voice, while she placed the candle upon the table and leaned over the Princess—"forgive me for waking you up. But I had such a fearful dream, and I fancied it was real. It seemed to me as if robbers were in the castle. I heard them laugh and talk quite plainly, and I was dreadfully distressed, and called you. You did not answer me, and then I thought they had already murdered you, and I sprang from the sofa where they had prepared my couch, near to your bed. You were not there, your bed was cold and empty, and still I heard quite plainly the loud laughing and talking of the robbers, and I was so dreadfully anxious and distressed that I must see where you were—I must see if they had not murdered you. I took the light and came here running, and, God be thanked! here is my dear Aunt Hollandine, and no robbers have taken her away from me, and no murderers have killed her."

With her slender childish arms she embraced the Princess, and pressed her rosy cheeks tenderly against Ludovicka's glowing face.

"You little blockhead, how you have frightened me!" said Ludovicka, repulsing her almost rudely. "I was asleep here, dreaming such sweet dreams, and all at once you have come and waked me, you little night owl. Go, go to bed, Louisa, and do not be so timid, child. No robbers and murderers come here, and in our castle you need not be afraid."

"Ah, Aunt Hollandine," whispered the child, while she cast a frightened, anxious glance around the room—"ah, Aunt Hollandine, I am afraid that this castle is haunted. It was either robbers or evil spirits who made such a noise and talked and laughed so loud. And"—she stooped lower and quite softly whispered—"and you may believe me, dear, good aunt, it is haunted here. I plainly saw the curtain across there shake as I entered. Evil spirits are abroad to-night. Do you hear how it howls and whistles out of doors, and how the windows rattle? Those are spirits, and they have flown in here and laughed and danced. O aunt! you did not hear, but I did, for I have been awake, and have heard and seen how the door curtain shook, and there they lurk now, those wicked spirits, and look at us and laugh. Oh, I know that, I do! My nurse, Trude, told me all about it the other evening, and she knows. There are good and bad spirits; but the good spirits make no noise, and you would not know they were here. They come to you so quietly and so gently, and sit by your bed and look at you, and their faces shine like the moon and their eyes like stars, and their thoughts are prayers and their smiles God's blessing. But evil spirits are noisy and boisterous, and laugh and make an uproar as they did to-night!"

"You have been dreaming, little simpleton, and fancy now that you really heard what dull sleep alone was thrumming about your ears. All has been quiet and peaceful here, and no evil spirits were in this room—trust me."

"Neither were good spirits here, aunt!" cried the child; with tearful voice. "The door curtain did move, and I did hear laughter—believe me. And, dear Aunt Hollandine, I beg you to give me your hand and come with me into your sleeping room, and please be kind enough to your poor little Louisa to take her with you into your great fine bed, and let us hug one another and pray together and sleep together; then the evil spirits can not get to us. Come, dear aunt, come!"

With both her hands she seized the Princess by the arm, and tried to lift her from the divan. But Ludovicka hastily pushed her away.

"Leave such follies, Louisa, and go to bed!" she said angrily. "Had I known what a restless sleeper you were, I should not have gratified your wish of staying with me, but had you put to bed on the other side of the castle with the little princesses, my sisters."

"Aunt," said the child, in a touching tone of voice, "I will be perfectly still and quiet, I shall certainly not disturb you, if you will only be good and kind enough to come with me."

"No," said Ludovicka, "no, I am not going with you, for I have something still to do here. But if you are good and docile, and go back quietly and prettily to the sleeping room, and creep into your little bed, then I promise you to come soon."

"Well, then, I will go," sighed the child, and dropped her little head like a withered flower. "Yes, I will be good, that you may love me. But please come soon, Aunt Ludovicka, come soon."

She again took the candlestick from the table, nodded to the Princess and tried to smile, while at the same time two long-restrained tears rolled, like liquid pearls, from her large blue eyes over her rosy cheeks. Softly and with her little head always bowed down she crossed the apartment to the tapestry door; but, just as she was on the verge of the threshold, she stopped, turned around, and an expression of radiant joy flashed across her pretty face.

"Dear aunt," she cried, "Trude told me that when we pray evil spirits must fly away, and have no longer any power. I will pray, yes, I will pray for you."

And the child sank upon her knees. Placing the candlestick at her side, she folded her little white hands upon her breast, raised her head and eyes, and prayed in a distinct, earnest voice: "Dear Heavenly Father and all ye holy angels on high, protect the innocent and the good! O God! guide us to thee with the golden star which shone upon the shepherds in the field when they went out to seek the child Christ! Blessed angels, come down and keep guard around our bed, that no evil spirits and bad dreams can come to trouble us! God and all ye holy angels on high, have pity on the innocent and good! Amen! Amen! Amen!"

And at the last amen, the child rose from her knees, again took up her light, and tripped lightly and smiling out of the room.

Ludovicka sprang to the door, shut it close, and leaned against it. The Electoral Prince stepped forth from the curtain on the other side, and his countenance was grave, and his large eyes were less fiery and passionate, as he now approached the Princess.

"Poor child," he whispered, "how bitterly distressed she is! Go to her, my precious love, and pray with her for our happiness and our love."

"Are you going away already, my Frederick?" she asked tenderly.

He pointed with his finger to the tapestry door. "She is so distressed, and her dear little face was so sad, it touched me to the heart."

"How foolish I was," she murmured impatiently—"how foolish not to think of it, that the child might disturb us! She has often before spent the night with me, and never waked up, never—"

"Never has she been disturbed," concluded the Prince, smiling. "Never before have evil spirits chattered and laughed within your room, and roused her from her sleep. But she shall yet see that her prayer has not been in vain, but that it has exorcised the evil spirits. Farewell, dear one! Farewell, and this kiss for good-night—this kiss for my beloved promised bride! The last betrothal kiss, for to-morrow night you will be my wife! God and all ye holy angels on high, protect the innocent and good!"

He kissed once more her lips and her dark, perfumed hair, then hastened with rapid step across the apartment, hurriedly opened the window, lowered the rope ladder, and swung himself up on the windowsill."

"Farewell, dearest, farewell! To-morrow night we shall meet again!" he whispered, kissing the tips of his fingers to her. Then he seized the rope ladder with both hands, and ere the Princess, who had hastened toward him, had yet found time to assist him and offer her hand to aid him in descending, his slight, elastic figure had disappeared beneath the dark window frame.

Ludovicka leaned out of the window, and with all the strength of her delicate little hands held firm the rope ladder, which swayed backward and forward and sighed and groaned beneath its burden. All at once the rope ladder stood still, and like spirit greetings were wafted up to her the words, "Farewell! farewell!"

"He is gone," murmured Ludovicka, retreating from the window—"he is gone! But to-morrow, to-morrow night, I shall have him again. To-morrow night I shall be his wife. O Sir Count d'Entragues! you shall be forced to acknowledge that the Electoral Prince loves me, and that his declaration of love is synonymous with an offer of marriage! I think I have managed everything exactly as it was marked out on the paper. Let us look again."

She again drew forth the paper from the casket on her writing table, and read it through attentively. "Yes," she murmured as she read, "all in order. Offer of marriage elicited. Alarmed by the threat that they will unite me to the Prince of Hesse. Not betray who the friends are who will render me their aid. Secret marriage arranged. Time presses, To-morrow night. All is in order. The Media Nocte, too, confessed. Only one thing is still wanting. I only omitted telling him that our rendezvous must be in the Media Nocte, and that we make our escape from there. Well, never mind, I can tell him to-morrow, and about ten o'clock the orange-colored ribbon may flutter from my window, and Count d'Entragues will be so rejoiced! Oh, to-morrow, to-morrow I shall be my handsome Electoral Prince's wife!"

She stretched forth her arms, as if she would embrace, although he was invisible, the handsome, beloved youth, whose kisses yet burned upon her lips. Her flaming eyes wandered over the apartment, as if she still hoped to find there his fine and slender shape. Now, not finding him, she sighed heavily and fixed her eyes upon the great portrait, which hung upon the wall above the divan. It was the half-length likeness of a woman, a queen, as was shown by the diadem of pearls surmounting her high, narrow forehead, and behind which a crown could be discerned. A rare picture it was, possessed of magical attractions. The large blue eyes, so glowing and tender, the soft, rounded cheeks, so transparently fair, the full, pouting lips, so speaking—all seemed to promise joy; and yet in the whole expression of the face there was so much melancholy and so much pain! Princess Ludovicka walked softly to the portrait, and lifted up to it her folded hands.

"I, too, will pray," she whispered. "Yes, I will pray to you, Mary Stuart, queen of love and beauty! O Mary! holy martyr, graciously incline thy glance toward thy grandchild. Let thy starry eyes rest upon me, and graciously protect me in the path that I shall tread to-morrow, for it is the path of love! Oh, let it be the path of happiness as well! Mary Stuart, pray for me, and protect me, your grandchild! Amen!"



III.—THE WARNING.

"Your Highness stayed out very late again last night," said Herr Kalkhun von Leuchtmar, as he entered the sleeping apartment of the Electoral Prince Frederick William, who was still in bed.

"Yes, it is true," replied the Prince, stretching himself at his ease, "I did come home very late last night."

"The chamberlain has already waked your highness three times, and your highness has each time assured him that he would get up, but has each time, it seems, fallen asleep again."

"Yes, I did fall asleep each time," answered Frederick William, in a somewhat irritated tone of voice; "and what of it?"

"Why," said Herr von Leuchtmar pleasantly—"why, the painter Gabriel Nietzel, who arrived yesterday, and, to whom your highness promised to give audience this morning at eight o'clock, has been waiting almost two hours; Count von Berg, on whom your highness was to call at nine o'clock, has been expecting you an hour in vain—the horse has stood saddled in the stable for an hour; and the private secretary Mueller, with whom your highness was to prepare to-day a treatise upon fortifications, will probably make no progress whatever with the work."

"It seems that I am not to have the privilege of sleeping as long as I choose," cried the Electoral Prince, with a mocking laugh. "My house moves like clockwork, in which there is no comfort or rest whatever, but where each must perform his prescribed service with mathematical exactness, that the whole be not stopped."

"It is in a house as in a state," said Leuchtmar seriously: "each one, high and low, must do his duty, else the whole machinery stops, and, as your highness very justly remarked, the clockwork either stands still or is at the least put out of order."

"Consequently, the clockwork of my house was disarranged merely because I stayed up two hours later than I have been accustomed to do?"

"Totally disarranged, your highness."

The Prince reddened with displeasure, his eyes flashed, and he had already opened his mouth for an angry reply, when he violently restrained himself.

"I will get up," he said, "and then we can talk more about it."

Herr von Leuchtmar bowed and withdrew to the antechamber. A quarter of an hour, however, had hardly elapsed before the chamberlain issued from the Prince's sleeping apartment, and announced to Herr Kalkhun von Leuchtmar, that breakfast was served, and that his highness, the Electoral Prince, awaited the baron's attendance at this meal in his drawing room. Herr von Leuchtmar hastened to obey the summons, and to repair to the Prince's drawing room. Frederick William seemed not at all conscious of his entrance. He sat on the divan sipping his chocolate, and at the same time restlessly playing with the greyhound that lay at his feet, looking up at him with its gentle, truthful eyes. Herr von Leuchtmar seated himself opposite the Prince, and took his breakfast in silent reserve. Once the Prince's eye scanned the noble, serious countenance of his former tutor, and the expression of perfect repose resting there seemed to pique and irritate him. He jumped up and several times walked briskly up and down the room. Then he paused before Leuchtmar, who had likewise risen, and whose large, dark-blue eyes were turned upon the Prince in gentle sorrow.

"Leuchtmar," said the latter, shortly and quickly, "all is not between us as it should be."

"I have remarked it for some time with pain," replied the baron softly. "Your highness is out of humor."

"No, I am discontented!" cried the Prince; "and, by heavens, I have a right to be!"

"Will your highness have the kindness to tell me why you are discontented?"

"Yes, I will tell you, for you must know it in order that you may endeavor to alter it. I am discontented, Leuchtmar, because you and Mueller will never forget that I have owed respect to you as my teachers."

"Prince," said the baron, lifting his head a little higher—"Prince, have we two behaved ourselves so as no longer to deserve your respect?"

"Respect, indeed; but you confound respect with obedience, and wish me to obey you unreservedly, as if I were still a boy, subject to his teachers."

"While now you would say you are a Prince arrived at years of majority, who no longer needs a teacher, and whose earlier preceptors are now only his subjects, dependent upon him."

"No, I would not say that; and it is exceedingly obliging in you to carry your guardianship so far as even to interpret what I would say. Meanwhile, you have made a remark which claims my attention. You said that I was a Prince in my majority?"

"Certainly, your highness, you are a major in so far as the laws of the electoral house of Brandenburg allow the Electoral Prince, in case of his father's death, if he has attained his sixteenth year, to assume the reins of government, independent of governor or regent."

"Consequently, if my father were to die (which God forbid!) I might administer the government independently, in my own right?"

"Independently and in your own right, your highness."

"Whence comes it then that I, who might undertake the government of a whole country, am yet perpetually under restraint in the conduct of my own private life, watched over and treated like an irresponsible boy? It grieves me, Herr von Leuchtmar, to be forced to remind you that the time for my education is past, for I am not sixteen years old, but already several weeks advanced in my eighteenth year."

"I thank your highness for this admonition," replied the baron quietly, "and I confess that without it I should not have known that your education was finished."

"Sir, you insult me! So you still regard me as nothing but a boy?"

"No, your highness, as a man, and I believe that Socrates was right when he said, 'The education of man begins in the cradle and ends only in the grave.'"

"You know very well that he meant it in a widely different sense. Our talk is not now of actual education, but of the relations of pupil and teacher. The time of my pupilage is past, Sir Baron, and you will bear in mind, I beg, that I no longer sit in the schoolroom."

"That, again, I did not know," said Leuchtmar gently, "and again in my defense I cite the wise Socrates, who said, 'Man is learning his whole life long, to confess at last that the only certain knowledge he has attained is that he knows nothing.'"

"Maxims and maxims forever!" cried the Prince impatiently. "You want to evade me—you purposely misunderstand me. Well, then, candidly speaking, I am sick and tired of being everlastingly found fault with, watched over, tutored and spied upon, and once for all I beg that a stop be put to all this."

"Will your highness do me the favor to say who it is that finds fault with, watches over, tutors, and spies upon you?"

"Why, yes—you, Baron Kalkhun von Leuchtmar, you and the private secretary Mueller, you two first and foremost do those very things."

"Your highness, if we have allowed ourselves to find fault with you when you did not deserve it, it was very presumptuous; if we have watched over you and tutored you, surely that might be forgiven in former tutors and instructors; but if we have acted as spies upon you, then have we both degraded ourselves and become contemptible, and your highness may esteem it as my last tutoring if I advise you to remove so unworthy a couple of subjects forever from your presence."

"You will lead me ad absurdum, Leuchtmar!" cried the Prince. "You would prove to me that I am wrong and accuse you falsely. But you are mistaken, sir; I only speak the truth. One thing I ask you, though: have you ever looked upon me as an ungrateful pupil, a disobedient scholar, an ill-natured, idle man?"

"No, never," returned Leuchtmar cordially. "No, your highness—"

"Leave off those tiresome titles," interrupted the Prince. "Speak simply and to the point, without ceremony, as is becoming in serious moments, when man stands face to face with man."

"Well then, no. You have ever been only a source of delight to your teachers and preceptors, and have ever proved yourself a kind-hearted, friendly, and condescending young Prince. You have (forgive me for saying so) been indeed the model of a young, amiable, good, and intellectual Prince. You have completed your studies at the universities of Arnheim and Leyden to the highest satisfaction of your professors. You have distinguished yourself at the colleges by diligence and attention, and perfected yourself in the languages and mastered all the sciences. Since you have been here at The Hague you have won for yourself the love and admiration of all those who have had the good fortune to come into your presence—"

"Leuchtmar," interrupted the Prince, with difficulty suppressing a smile—"Leuchtmar, now you are falling into the opposite error; before you blamed me too much, now you praise me too much!"

"Prince, I spoke before as now, only according to my inmost convictions, and you permit me still to utter these, do you not?"

"Well," said Frederick William, hesitating, "the thing is—if your convictions are too flattering or too injurious, you might moderate them a little. For example, the way you acted in my sleeping room, a little while ago, was injurious. Just acknowledge it—say that you went a little too far, that it was not becoming in you to find fault with me, because I sat up a few hours too late, and all is made up."

"Prince," replied Leuchtmar, after a slight pause—"Prince, forgive me, but I can not say it, for it would be an untruth. For a Prince, want of punctuality is a very dangerous and bad fault, and if he first becomes unreliable in his outer being, he will be so soon in his inner nature as well. But I do admit that perhaps I spoke in too excited a tone of voice, and the reason of that was, because—"

"Well? Be pleased to finish your sentence. Because—"

"Because, yes, let it be spoken plainly, because I know what this keeping of late hours means."

"And what does it mean, if I may ask?"

"Prince, my dear, beloved Prince, you whom in the depths of my soul I call my son, Prince, forgive me if I answer. It means that you have fallen into bad company—company which it is beneath your dignity to keep, company alike prejudicial to your mind and honor as to your health."

"Of what company do you dare to speak so?" asked the Prince, with wrathful voice.

"Prince, of that company which is hypocritical and deceitful as sin, dazzling and alluring as a poisonous flower, dangerous and deadly as Scylla and Charybdis, of the company of the Media Nocte."

The Prince laughed aloud, and at the same time drew a deep breath, as if he felt his breast relieved of an oppressive burden. "Ah," he said, "is it only this? The Media Nocte is indeed a society which appears to all those who do not belong to it as a monster, a dragon, which slays with its fiery breath those who approach it, and daily requires for its breakfast a youth or a maiden. But I tell you, you anxious and short-sighted fools, you take an eagle for a flying dragon, and scream fire merely because you see a bright light! The Media Nocte is no monster, no Scylla and Charybdis, and we need not on her account have our arms bound, as cunning Ulysses did, which, by the way, always seemed to me very weak and womanly. A man must go to meet danger with a bold eye, with valiant spirit; he must confront it with his freedom of will and strength, and not seek to defend himself from it by outward means of resistance. Supposing that the Media Nocte were the dangerous society which you erroneously imagine it to be, need this be a ground for me to intrench myself timidly against it and flee its touch? No; just for that very reason would I seek it out—advance to meet it with the determination to do battle with it. But I tell you that you are mistaken in your premises! The Media Nocte is a society devoted to noble pleasures, to pure joys, to the highest, most intellectual enjoyments. All the arts, all the sciences, are fostered by it. All that is great and good, exalted and beautiful, is hailed there with delight, and only pedantry and stupidity are held aloof. Truth and nature are the two sacred laws observed in this society, and the noble, pure, free, and chaste Grecian spirit is the great exemplar of all its members. Therefore they all appear in Greek robes, and all their banquets are solemnized in the Greek style. And this it is which you wise, pedantic people stigmatize as blameworthy and abominable. The unusual fills you with horror, and the genial you call bold because it soars above what is commonplace!"

"Well do I know that your highness looks upon the society in this way," replied Leuchtmar, regarding with loving glances the handsome, excited countenance of the Prince. "Yes, I know that this is the only view you have had of the society of the Media Nocte, and that you would turn from it with horror and disgust if you were conscious of the license lurking behind its apparent geniality, the coarseness behind the unusual. But I beseech you, Prince, be not blind with your eyes open, close not voluntarily the avenues to light. I swear to you as an honest and a truthful man, that this society is like a plague spot for the noble youth of The Hague. Each one who touches it becomes impregnated with its poison, and sickens in spirit and imagination, and the fearful poison flows into his mind and heart, driving out from them forever truth and freshness, youth and innocence! Had I a son who belonged to this society with full understanding and appreciation of its meaning, I should mourn and lament him as one lost; had I a daughter, and had she even once voluntarily attended a meeting of the Media Nocte and participated in its pleasures, then should I thrust her from me with aversion and disgust—should no longer recognize her as my daughter, but forever expel her from my house in shame and disgust, for—"

"Desist!" cried the Prince, with thundering voice, springing toward Leuchtmar and grasping his shoulders with both hands. Glaring fiercely upon him, he repeated, "Desist, I tell you, Leuchtmar, desist, and recall what you have just said, for it is a libel, a slander!"

"No, it is the truth, Prince!" cried Leuchtmar, emphatically. "The Media Nocte is a society of the honorless and shameless, and the woman who belongs to it is no longer pure!"

"No further, man, or I shall kill you!" said the Prince, in a high-pitched voice stifled by rage, while his arms clutched Leuchtmar's shoulders yet more firmly. "Only hear this: You know and have long guessed that I love the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine. Well, now, the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine belongs to the society of the Media Nocte!"

"I knew that, Prince," said Leuchtmar solemnly.

The Prince gave a scream of rage, and a deadly pallor overspread his cheeks. He still retained his grasp upon Leuchtmar's shoulders, his flashing eyes penetrated like dagger points Leuchtmar's countenance, and on his brow stood great drops of sweat, which gave witness of his inward tortures.

"You knew that," he said, with gasping breath and gnashing teeth—"you knew that, and yet you dare to speak so, dare to vilify the maiden whom I love, dare to asperse a pure angel, to call her an outcast! Take back your words, man, if your life is dear to you—recall them, if you would leave this room alive!"

"Kill me, Prince, for I do not recall them!" cried Leuchtmar, tranquilly meeting the flaming glances of the Prince. "No, I do not recall them, and if you take away my life, I shall give it up in your service and for your profit. You see very well I attempt no defense, although I am a strong man, who knows well how to defend his life. But for my own convictions and for you I die gladly. Kill me then!"

"You do not recall them?" shrieked the Prince. "You maintain all to be truth that you have said of the order of the Media Nocte? You knew already before I told you that the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine belongs to it?"

"I knew it, Prince, indeed, I knew it!"

The Prince burst into a wild laugh, and with a sudden jerk thrust Leuchtmar so violently from him that he reeled backward against the wall.

"No," he said grimly and wrathfully—"no, I will not do you the pleasure to kill you, for that would turn a wretched farce into a tragedy, and make a hero of a comedian! You are a good comedian, and you have played your part well! I can testify to that. Go and claim credit for this with my father and Count Schwarzenberg!"

"I do not understand you, Prince. What does this mean?"

"It means, Mr. Comedian, it means, that already this morning, while you supposed I was sleeping, I have had an interview with Gabriel Nietzel, my mother's court painter. Ah! now start back and be amazed. Yes, Gabriel Nietzel sat by my bed for more than an hour, and brought me a verbal message from my mother. She had also intrusted him with a letter for me, but on his journey here he has been robbed and the letter taken from him. Oh, I imagine the robbers took much more interest in the letters than in the effects of the painter, and Count Schwarzenberg and yourself both well know their contents. But happily my mother gave good Gabriel Nietzel a message to bring by word of mouth as well, which they could not steal from him, Baron von Leuchtmar. Can you understand now why I call you a comedian, who has studied his part well?"

"No, Electoral Prince of Brandenburg, I can not yet."

"Well, sir, then I shall tell you. Your virtuous indignation against the Media Nocte, your shameful allegations against a Princess, whom I love, your injurious accusations and slanders—all that was nothing more than a well-studied role prepared for you by my father and his minister. Oh, answer me not, do not deny it. I know what I say. Yes, I know that the Emperor of Germany deigns to interest himself in the marriage of the little Electoral Prince of Brandenburg. I know that his condescension goes so far as to desire to bless me with the hand of an Austrian archduchess. I know that on this account he has given strict orders and injunctions to his devoted servant, who is my father's all-powerful minister, that I shall be summoned away from The Hague; not, indeed, to reside at my father's court, but to proceed to the imperial court. But, God be thanked, the walls of the palace of Berlin are not o'er thick, and my mother has quick ears and Gabriel Nietzel is a trusty messenger. Yes, sir, I know you and your plans. I know, too, that the Emperor dreads my union with the Princess Ludovicka; that he has had my father notified that he will never sanction such a union, and that therefore my father and his Catholic minister have dispatched hither messengers and envoys, with strict orders never to suffer a matrimonial alliance with the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine, but to do everything to prevent it. Everything to prevent it! Do you understand me, sir? To calumniate also, and accuse and defame. But all together you shall not succeed. I shall prove to the Emperor, the Elector and his minister that I do not fear their wrath, and that the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg will never, never be the vassal and servant of the German Emperor; that he feels himself to be an independent man, who claims for himself freedom of will and action, and who will only wed in obedience to the dictates of his own heart and his own will. But you, Leuchtmar, I herewith bid you farewell! We part to-day, and forever. That we so part, believe me, is to me a lifelong pain, for never can I forget what I owe you, and how faithful you have otherwise been to me. Leuchtmar, it is dreadful that you have turned against me. Go, we have parted! Go! And when you get home to Berlin, then say to my father's Austrian minister, that I shall never forgive him for what he has this day done to me, and that the Elector Frederick William will avenge the Electoral Prince. Tell him that I shall never accept an Austrian archduchess, a Catholic, as my wife—never become the humble slave of the Emperor of Germany. This is my farewell!"

And with flaming countenance and eyes flashing with energy and passion, the Prince crossed the apartment, violently pulled open the door, and strode out. Leuchtmar looked after him with a mixture of tenderness and grief. "How angry he was, and yet how glorious to look upon!" he said softly to himself. "A young hero, who one day will perform his vow. He will not bow down as the vassal of the German Emperor!"

A side door was just now easily and cautiously opened, and an older man of venerable aspect, in simple court garb, timidly entered, looking carefully around, as if he dreaded finding some one else in the apartment.

"Baron, for heaven's sake, what has happened here?" he asked anxiously. "The Electoral Prince has been talking so loudly and so angrily that they heard him all through the house, and now he has stormed out and shouted to have his horse saddled. Almighty God! what has happened?"

Baron Leuchtmar laid his hand upon his friend's arm, and nodded kindly to him. "My dear Mueller," he said, with a faint smile, "nothing more has happened than that the Electoral Prince has just dismissed me in anger, and sent me home to Berlin."

"For pity's sake, what is that you say?" asked the private secretary, clasping his trembling hands together in painful astonishment. "He has been so ungrateful as to thrust from him his best and truest friend?"

"I tell you yes, my dear Mueller, he has done so, and in wrath. You know well that hastiness of temper is an heirloom of the Brandenburg princes, and Frederick William can not deny that he has the family failing. Yes, he has dismissed me; but then, you know, it was perfectly natural, for he loves the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine, and I ventured to criticise her."

"It is actually true, then, that he loves her? He has allowed himself to be enticed by the siren! Ah! she is the genuine grandchild of Mary Stuart, and knows how to charm."

"Hush, Mueller, hush! If the Electoral Prince hears that, he will send you to the devil too!"

"He may do so," cried the old gentleman indignantly. "If he drives you away, his tutor and his best friend, then I shall reckon it an honor to be sent away likewise."

"Well, well my friend, be not so desperate. We know our dear Electoral Prince. He is a lion when angry, a child when his anger is appeased. Let us wait; to-day I shall conceal myself from him, and to-morrow, well, to-morrow he will call for me himself. But did you not say that he had given orders for his horse to be saddled?"

"Yes, indeed, I heard it myself how he commanded them in angry voice to saddle Maurus for him—the wild hunter, you know."

"Where can he be going so early in the morning?" asked Leuchtmar thoughtfully. "He is so much excited, and love of the Princess will lead him to some rash, ill-advised step; for you are right, friend, she is a siren! But hark! Is not that the voice of the Electoral Prince?"

"Yes, it is indeed. He is below in the court!"

The two men hastened through the apartment to one of the windows, and, hiding themselves behind the curtains, looked cautiously down into the court. The Electoral Prince had just swung himself into the saddle. The horse gave a loud neigh, as if recognizing its master, then reared, but the Prince sat firm. His short, furred mantle was lifted high by the wind, the long white ostrich plumes nodded above his broad-brimmed, gold-laced hat, beneath which floated like a lion's mane his brown and curly hair. With firm, energetic hand the youth compelled the animal to stand, then pressed his knees into its flanks, and swift as an arrow from the bow the animal flew out of the court gate. Both gentlemen stepped back from the window.

"He is a splendid young man," sighed the private secretary Mueller, shaking his head.

"Yes," echoed Leuchtmar, smiling, "I find it very comprehensible that the Princess Ludovicka should gladly have him as consort. But we must not submit to it, but do everything to prevent it, for it is contrary to policy and reasons of state. And I think, too, such an union would not be for the Prince's welfare, for the Princess—But hush! the Electoral Prince has forbidden me to speak evil of her, and we are here in his room. Let us keep silence with regard to her."

"But where can he be rushing to now—the Electoral Prince, I mean?"

"I fear that I can guess. To her, to the Princess, and to apologize to her with his looks for the injury which my words have done her. He is just an enthusiastic youth, and it is his first love! Believe me, he is hurrying to her!"



IV.—AN IDYL.

Yes, Leuchtmar was quite right. He was away to her—to Ludovicka. To her he was irresistibly drawn by vehement desire. Yes, she was his first love, and the magic of this delicious sensation held his whole being enthralled, and now drove him onward as on the wings of the hurricane. He thought of nothing and knew nothing but that he must see her, must prove to her how passionately he loved her, how fervently and devoutly he believed in her. The horse dashed on furiously, breathlessly, and yet it seemed to the Electoral Prince as if an eternity had elapsed ere he finally reached Castle Doornward. He breathed a glad sigh of relief, threw the reins to the promptly advancing servants, and vaulted from the horse. His beaming eyes were uplifted to his beloved's window, and he saluted her with his thoughts and his smile. He thought she must feel it, and his looks and thoughts must bring her to the window. He stopped and looked up—but Ludovicka did not appear at the window; only an orange-colored ribbon was fluttering there in the sunshine and the wind, and Frederick William smiled joyfully, for he took it as a token of good fortune. Then he entered the castle, reverentially greeted by the lackeys, who ventured not to oppose him, as with rapid bounds, like a young deer, he sprang up the steps. Straight to the apartments of the Princess Ludovicka he strode, through the antechamber into the drawing room. But she was not there; she came not to meet him in her enchanting beauty, with that affectionate smile upon her crimson lips. No, Ludovicka was not there, and the chambermaid who officiously hurried from the adjoining room informed the Prince that her most gracious young lady had already been gone an hour on a visit to The Hague, whence she would not return till the next morning. But the sharp, cunning eyes of the Abigail, had meanwhile peered through the door, which the Prince had left open, out into the antechamber, and, finding that no one was there, the Prince having come quite alone, she approached nearer to him.

"Most gracious sir," she whispered, "I was, however, to have gone into town and handed something for the Electoral Prince to his valet, to whom I am engaged."

"Now it will be more convenient for you, Alice," said the Electoral Prince cheerfully. "You need no third party. I am here myself. Give to me personally what you would have given to my valet, your respected betrothed, for me."

"Here it is," whispered Alice, drawing from the pocket attached to her girdle by a silver chain a little note, which, with a graceful bow, she handed to the Prince.

"And here is your reward," he said, taking a gold piece from his purse and handing it to her. She took it, blushing with confusion, and bowed down to the earth.

"If it pleases your grace to read here," whispered she, "I will guard the door."

He shook his head and rushed out. No, not in that narrow, close room, not in the neighborhood of that tiresome chambermaid could be read the letter of his beloved—that letter which he believed, nay, knew, contained the last decision for sealing his whole future fate. In the open air, under God's blue sky, in the warm and radiant autumn sun, would he receive the message of his beloved, would he take to his heart what the angel of his life had to communicate to him. As rapidly as he had stormed up he again sprang down the steps, and through the well-known rooms and corridors took the way leading to the park. He was well acquainted with it, for he had often taken it at the side of his aunt, the unfortunate Bohemian Queen and Electress, who had found a refuge here in Holland at the court of her uncle, the Stadtholder Frederick Henry of Orange, and had her little residence at Castle Doornward. He had often walked it with the princesses, her daughters, and very bright and pleasant hours had he passed in that beautiful park with Princess Ludovicka.

On one of those squares, in one of those shady thickets where he had so often sat with her and her sisters, he would now read her message. With hasty step, with glowing cheeks fired by enthusiasm, with head aloft, he strode on, and now entered the woods near the path. They were curtained by festoons of wild grapevine; no one could see how he now took out the little note which he had so long concealed in his hand, how he pressed it to his lips, to his eyes, how he then unfolded it, and again, before reading it, pressed the beloved characters to his lips. The letter contained nothing but the words: "The friends are ready and willing. To-night about one o'clock in the Media Nocte. From there flight. A worthy asylum is waiting, and the priest stands before the altar to bless the couple."

"To-night she will be mine—to-night we shall be married! To-night we shall make our escape!"

He could think of nothing but this. His heart continually repeated it with loud jubilation, his lips murmured it softly in response, while, knowing nothing, seeing nothing of the outside world, he sped along through the alleys and over the squares of the garden. He knew not whither he went, he had no aim; he only knew that to-night he was to be indissolubly united with his beloved—that he would flee with her. Once he must pause, for the loudly beating heart denied him breath, and once, in the blissful rapture of his soul, he must give a loud shout of joy, otherwise his breast would have burst. A merry, musical laugh rang forth near to him, and as he turned to the side whence the sound had proceeded a lovely and pleasing picture met his astonished gaze. In the midst of the grassplot near which he was stood a great white cow, one of those splendid creatures that are only seen on Dutch pastures. A fine-looking maid, dressed in the national costume of the Dutch peasantry, with the gold-edged cap over the full, luxuriant hair that fell in long braids down her back, sat on a stool beside the cow, and was busied in milking. In melodious, regular cadence the steaming milk flowed over her rosy hands down into the white porcelain bucket which she held between her knees. At her side stood a little girl, in almost the identical costume, only that the wide plaited skirt was of black silk, the bodice of purple velvet trimmed with gold buttons and loops, and the white apron of finest linen edged with point lace. Below the short silk skirt, trimmed with purple velvet, peeped forth blue silk stockings with red tops; shoes with high red heels, ornamented with gold buckles, covered the neat little feet. It was altogether quite the costume of a Dutch peasant girl, only the cap was wanting on the head, and in its stead the hair, which fell in long fair ringlets over the child's shoulders, was adorned by a thick wreath of the tendrils of the wild grape, into which, in front just over the brow, were woven two beautiful purple asters. She had been busied, it appeared from the quantity of leaves and flowers she carried in her apron, in weaving wreaths, but now let the contents of her apron fall to the ground, and only kept the green wreath already finished, which hung upon her arm, while she sprang laughing over the grassplot.