“Vengeance upon you for it!” cried she, in flaming wrath.  “I, Ludovicka Hollandine, cry vengeance upon you, for you break my heart!”

“And you will have no compassion?  You will not see what I suffer?  Ludovicka, look!  Look in my eyes, they wept out last night the pains of a whole life—­see what I suffer!  Ludovicka, on my knees I beseech you, if you really love me, then have pity upon me—­for the sake of my agony forgive me what you suffer!”

And beside himself with emotion, he fell upon his knees, lifting up to her his clasped hands and his face that was bathed in tears.

But now it was she who shrank back.  “No,” said she harshly and severely, “no, no compassion, no forgiveness!  I do not love you, I have never loved you, for you are a foolish boy, and know nothing of the glow of passion!  You are a child!  Go away and act like a child, and be an obedient son!  Love rejects you! love turns from you!” And waving him off with both hands, the Princess turned and walked to the door.  Frederick William, still upon his knees, heard her quickly retreating steps, but did not rise.  Ludovicka had already stretched out her hand to open the door; but she turned round once more, and in tones of mingled love and grief cried, “Frederick, will you let me go?”

He did not answer, his head sank lower, and a painful groan forced itself from his breast.  She opened the door—­he heard it—­he saw the streak of light that crossed the room through the open door, it vanished—­the door had closed.  Then was wrung from the Prince’s breast a shriek of agony such as only issues from the lips of man under the pressure of earth’s sharpest pangs.

The three gentlemen were yet assembled in the Prince’s drawing room, conversing and imparting to one another their fears and hopes.  All at once the door of the cabinet opened and the Electoral Prince entered.  Pale as death, but with firm, determined features, he stepped up to the three gentlemen, who looked at him with tender, anxious glances.

“Marwitz,” he said, “you can this very day set out on your return to Berlin, for your mission is fulfilled.  Say to my father that as an obedient son I submit to his wishes, and shall forthwith depart for Berlin.”

The three gentlemen only answered him by a single cry of joy, and, animated by one feeling, one inspiration, sank upon their knees and prayed aloud, “Bless, O God! bless the Prince, who has conquered himself!”

“What is going on here?” asked a loud manly voice behind them.  “What means this?  Three gentlemen on their knees, and my young cousin looking on like the Knight St. George!”

“And so he is, Prince of Orange,” cried Baron Leuchtmar, rising and advancing to meet the Prince, who had come in unannounced, as was his wont at the house of his cousin.  “Yes, he is a Knight St. George, who has conquered the dragon.  You know, Prince Henry, how sweetly they have enticed him, with what magic chains they have been encircling him.  You know the Media Nocte and”—­added he softly—­“the Princess Ludovicka.”