“And is that now your happy state?”

“No, princess, I have only twelve louis d’ors.”

“And how many creditors?”

“Two-and-thirty.”

“So twenty louis d’ors are wanting to satisfy your longing?”

“Yes, unhappily.”

The princess walked to her table and took from it a little roll of gold, which she handed to the master of ceremonies.  “Take it,” said she, smiling; “yesterday I received my pin-money for the month, and I rejoice that I am in a condition to balance your creditors and your louis d’ors at this time.”

Pollnitz took the gold without a blush, and kissed the hand of the princess gallantly.  “Ah!  I have but one cause of repentance,” sighed he.

“Well, what is that?”

“That I did not greatly increase the number of my creditors.  My God! who could have guessed the magnanimous intentions of my royal princess?”

CHAPTER VIII.

The first cloud.

Drunk with happiness, revelling in the recollection of this first interview with his lovely and exalted mistress, Frederick von Trenck rode slowly through the lonely highways toward Potsdam.  It was not necessary for him to pay any attention to the road, as his horse knew every foot of the way.  Trenck laid his bridle carelessly upon the neck of the noble animal, and gave himself up entirely to meditation.  Suddenly night waned, the vapors melted, light appeared in the east, and the first purple glow was succeeded by a clear, soft blue.  The larks sang out their joyous morning song in the heavens, not yet disturbed by the noise and dust of the day.

Trenck heard not the song of the lark, he saw not the rising sun, which, with his golden rays, illuminated the landscape, and changed the dew-drops in the cups of the flowers into shimmering diamonds and rubies; he was dreaming, dreaming.  The sweet and wondrous happiness of the last few hours intoxicated his soul; he recalled every word, every smile, every pressure of the hand of his beloved, and a crimson blush suffused his cheek, a sweet tremor oppressed his heart, as he remembered that she had been clasped in his arms; that he had kissed the pure, soft, girlish lips, whose breath was fresher and more odorous than the glorious morning air which fanned his cheeks and played with his long dark hair.  With a radiant smile and proudly erected head, he recalled the promise of the princess.  She had given him reason to hope; she believed in the possibility of their union.

And why, indeed, might not this be possible?  Had not his career in the last few months been so brilliant as to excite the envy of his comrades? was he not recognized as the special favorite of the king?  Scarcely six months had passed since he arrived in Berlin; a young, poor, and unknown student, he was commended to the king by his protector, the Count von Lottum, who earnestly petitioned his majesty to