“You speak falsely now, Count Schwarzenberg,” she said, “for what you told my brother was true.  Yes, three years ago, in the childish folly of my heart, I granted you a favor unseemly for a modest maiden.  Yes, I wrote you a note with my own hand, inviting you to a rendezvous in the castle at nine o’clock in the evening.  Brother, I confess this, although I know that I am thereby forever forfeiting your esteem.  But this man has accused me, and I honor the past of my heart, while I acknowledge the fault of which he accuses me.  Yes, I have loved him, warmly, inexpressibly, and have wept and lamented him in a manner little becoming a princess, but in my love I was only a poor simple maiden, who wanted nothing in the whole world but his heart.  Well I know that I sinned grievously against my mother and the laws of virtue and propriety in carrying on a clandestine love affair, in allowing my heart to be deceived by his ardent protestations of love and even in my delusion going so far as to grant him a rendezvous—­nay, even to ask for one.”

“Did you really do that, sister?”

“I did, and have repented it for three long years.  That I confess this, that I reveal my secret, should prove to you that I now speak the truth.  And therefore you will believe me, Frederick William, when I affirm that this is the only favor of which the count can boast.  I have to blush before you, but not before him.”

“Not before me either, Louise,” said the Elector.  “I know love, and in my own heart have battled with all its follies and illusions.  I know what you suffer, by remembering my own experiences.  It is a bitter grief to be obliged to admit that you have wasted the holiest feelings of your heart upon an unworthy object.”

“Yes indeed, it is a bitter grief,” sighed the Princess.

“O Princess! spare yourself this grief!” cried the count, still kneeling before her.  “You have freely owned that you love me.  Why, then, will you turn away from me?  Accept me as your husband, and I will love you, serve you, obey you, ask nothing but the privilege of looking upon you, and basking in your presence.”

She gave him a long, cold look.  “And if I decline your hand, you will revenge yourself, will you not, by displaying my note to the Emperor and the whole world, you will defame me and all my house?  Was not that your threat?”

“I spoke in frenzy, in despair.  But you shall see that I will ask nothing from you for fear, but all for love.  See, here is the note.  I have hitherto preserved it as my most precious jewel; my father bade me do so, and told me that this paper might save me in the hour of greatest peril.  This hour is now at hand, but I will not have it save me.  Here is the note; I offer it to you.  Take it, tear it up, and then decide!”

With outstretched hands he held out the paper, but she took it not, and quickly stepped back.

“Keep the paper,” she said.  “Why should I ask whether you will turn it into a weapon against me?  I will accept no favor or advantage from you.  Only let it be known at the imperial court, to the whole world, that I loved you; show this paper everywhere, and all will turn from you, all women will despise you, and all men blush for the traitor to love!”