Then:  “Long live and God bless her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde!” And he was gone.

And as he disappeared a shadow of some sort passed before my eyes, and a something dull and heavy pressed upon my heart.  Presently came the sound of beating hoofs, and then all became still.

Gretchen and I were alone.

Gretchen appeared to be studying the blue veins in her hands which she listlessly held before her.  An interval of three or four minutes passed, still she remained in that pathetic attitude, silent and motionless.

“Gretchen,” said I, “have you nothing to say?”

“Yes.”  Her eyes raised to the level of mine, and I saw that they were deep in tears.  “Herr, I shall say to you that which I have never said to any man, and that which I shall never say to any man again.  I may say it now because it is sinless.  I love you!  I love you, and, loving you, God knows what the future without you shall be.  Yes!  I love you.  Take me once in your arms and kiss me, and let me go—­forever.”

Then with a smile which partly shielded a sob, her arms went around my neck and her face lay close to mine.  Heaven knows which was the greater, the joy or the pain.

“Gretchen, think!” I cried, distractedly.  “What is a Prince or a King to you and me, who love?”

“There is honor,” gently.  She caressed my cheek with her fingers.

“Honor!” I cried, vehemently.  “Is it honorable to marry the man you do not love and break the heart of the one you do?”

She did not answer, but her arms fell from my neck, and she approached the window.  The passing river was reflected in her eyes.  Her reverie was a short one.

“Listen, Herr; I will tell you why it is honorable.  The Prince and the King?  I fear the one as little as I do the other.  It is not the Prince, it is not the King, it is not the principality.  Herr, I have come near to being a very wicked woman, who was about to break the most sacred promise a sovereign can make.  Before I came here a delegation of my people approached me.  On bended knees they asked me not to voluntarily return the principality to the King, who was likely to give them a ruler rapacious or cruel or indifferent.  And while they understood what a sacrifice it meant to me, they asked me to bend my will to the King’s and wed the Prince, vowing that I alone should be recognized as their sovereign ruler.  Since my coronation they said that they had known the first happiness in years.  Herr, it was so pathetic!  I love my people, who, after all, are not adopted since I was born here.  So I gave my promise, and, heaven forgive me, I was about to break it!  There are some things, Herr, which the publican does not understand.  One of these is the duty a sovereign owes to the people.  The woman in me wishes to follow your fortunes, though they carry her to the ends of the world; but the sovereign sees but one path—­honor and duty.