Prince Ludwig took off his hat.  “Herbeck, you are a great politician.”

“No, prince,” replied Herbeck, with ineffable sadness.  “Had I been a great politician I should have succeeded.  Ah, give this to my merit; self never entered into this dream.  For you, my child, only for you.  And so great was this dream that I almost made you a queen!  You are my flesh and blood, the child of my wife, whom I loved.  She was only a singer in the opera, at Dresden, but her soul was great, like yours.  It is a simple story.”

Hildegarde did not move, nor had she moved since the revelation.  Carmichael, a secret joy in his heart, watched the girl for the slightest swaying, that inevitable prelude to fainting.  But Hildegarde was not the kind of woman who faints in the face of a catastrophe, however great it might be.  The only sign of life lay in her beautiful eyes, the gaze of which remained unswervingly fixed upon the chancellor’s ashen countenance.

“Hildegarde,” said the duke, “you shall become my daughter, and you shall dwell here till the end of your days.  I will try to right the wrong that has been done to you.”

“No, your Highness,” she replied.  “There is but one place for me, and that is at my father’s side.”  And resolutely she walked to the chancellor’s left and her hand stole down and met his firmly.  “My father, I forgive you,” she said, with quiet dignity.

“They are all wrong, Frederick,” whispered Prince Ludwig.  “She is as much a princess as the other.”

“You forgive me?” The chancellor could not believe his ears.

“Yes, father.”

Then, recalling all the child-hunger in his arms and heart, he swept her to his breast convulsively; and the unloosed tears dropped upon her bright head.

“And who am I?” said Gretchen.

“Breunner, you say this little goose-girl is my daughter?”

“I solemnly swear it, Highness.  Look into her face again carefully.”

The duke did so, a hand on either cheek.  He scrutinized every contour, the color of the eyes, the low, broad brow, the curve of the chin.  Out of the past he conjured up the mother’s face.  Yes, beyond any doubt, there was a haunting likeness, and he had never noted it before.

“But who will prove it to the world?” he cried hopelessly, still holding Gretchen’s wondering face between his hands.

“I shall prove it,” said the king.

“You?  And how?”

“I shall marry Gretchen; I shall make her a queen.  That will be proof enough.”

“A fine stroke, nephew; a bold stroke!” Prince Ludwig laid his hand upon the king’s shoulder with rare affection.

“If you accept her without further proof, I, her father, can do no less.”  And the duke kissed Gretchen on the forehead and led her over to the king, gravely joining their hands.

“Gretchen!” murmured the king.

“I do not know how to act like a princess.”