“Is it really a secret, then?” asked Charlotte Louise—­“no bad secret, I hope, Frederick?”

“It at least touches very grave matters,” replied the Elector.  “Look yonder at that window niche.”

The Princess turned quickly, and looked in the direction indicated.  A low scream escaped her lips, and she sank trembling upon a seat.

“Adolphus!” murmured her quivering lips.

This single utterance spoke more eloquently to both men than the most elaborate arrangement of sentences could have done.  It told them that years of separation had not estranged the Princess from Count Schwarzenberg; that her heart still called him by the familiar name accorded him by love; that with the count, Charlotte Louise was not the proud Princess, but only the humble, loving maiden.  The Elector understood this, and a cloud overshadowed his brow.

The count understood it, too, and his dark countenance brightened.  With uplifted head he rushed from the window niche to the Princess, and, kneeling before her, seized her hand to press it to his lips.  But this touching of her hand seemed to restore to the Princess her strength and self-possession.  By a hasty movement she released her hand and rose.

“Brother,” she said, “is it customary to greet princesses in this style?  Be pleased to tell me, for you know I have been but little in the world, and am, therefore, but little conversant with its forms.”

“No, Louise, it is not customary,” replied Frederick William, breathing more freely; “but Count Schwarzenberg seems to suppose, that as your favored lover he need not regard the laws of ceremony.”

“As my favored lover?” asked the Princess, a blush suddenly suffusing her brow and neck, while her blue eyes, usually so soft, sparkled with indignation.  “Did I hear aright?  Did you actually say that to me, brother, to your sister?  Did you call this or any other man my favored lover?”

“I only repeated the words made use of by Count John Adolphus von Schwarzenberg in suing for your hand, sister.  This gentleman affirms that you have granted him more favor than was seemly in a modest maiden.  And when I doubted it he replied that he could prove it, for he possessed a note, written with your own hand, in which you invited him to a rendezvous by night.”

“He said that!” cried the Princess.  “He said that, and you did not kill him on the spot?”

“I did not kill him,” answered the Elector gravely and solemnly, “because no one should die for the truth.  And he maintains that he speaks the truth:  that by means of this letter of yours he can dishonor you and my house in the eyes of the whole world.  Say then, Louise, is it true; does he actually possess such a letter?”

Charlotte Louise shuddered and tottered backward.

“Yes!” she breathed—­“yes, he speaks the truth—­he does possess such a letter!”