“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.”