“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.”