“Did I not say that I desired to be alone?” said he, indignantly.  Perceiving his sister, he now arose, an expression of anxiety pervading his countenance.  “Ah, my sister! your sad face proclaims you the bearer of bad news,” said he; “and very important it must have been to bring you unannounced to my presence.”

“My brother, misfortune has always the privilege of coming unannounced to the presence of princes, to implore pity and mercy at their hands.  I claim this holy privilege for the unfortunate lady who has prayed for my intercession in her behalf.  Sire, will you graciously accord her an audience?”

“Who is she?” asked the king, discontentedly,

“Sire, it is the Countess Lostange,” said Amelia, in a scarcely audible voice.

“The mother of the rebellious Lieutenant von Trenck!” exclaimed the king, in an almost threatening tone, his eyes flashing angrily.

“Yes, it is the mother of the unfortunate Von Trenck who implores mercy of your majesty!” exclaimed the countess, falling on her knees at the threshold of the door.

The king recoiled a step, and his eye grew darker.  “Really, you obtain your audiences in a daring manner—­you conquer them, and make the princess your herald.”

“Sire, I was refused admission.  In the anguish of my heart, I turned to the princess, who was generous enough to incur the displeasure of her royal brother for my sake.”

“And was that which you had to say really so urgent?”

“Sire, for five months has my son been languishing in prison, and you ask if there is an urgent necessity for his mother’s appeal.  My son has incurred your majesty’s displeasure; why, I know not.  He is a prisoner, and stands accused of I know not what.  Be merciful—­let me know his crime, that I may endeavor to atone for it.”

“Madame, a mother is not responsible for her son; a woman cannot atone for a man’s crimes.  Leave your son to his destiny; it may be a brighter one at some future day, if he is wise and prudent, and heeds the warning which is now knocking at his benighted heart.”  At these words, the king’s glance rested for a moment on the countenance of the princess, as if this warning had also been intended for her.

“It is, then, your majesty’s intention to cheer a mother’s heart with hope?  My son will not be long a captive.  You will pardon him for this crime of which I have no knowledge, and which you do not feel inclined to mention.”

“Shall I make it known to you, madame?” said the king, with severity.  “He carried on an imprudent and treasonable correspondence, and if tried by court-martial, would be found guilty of high treason.  But, in consideration of his youth, and several extenuating circumstances with which I alone am acquainted, I will be lenient with him.  Be satisfied with this assurance:  in a year your son will be free; and when solitude has brought him to reflection, and the consciousness of his crime, when he is more humble and wiser, I will again be a gracious king to him. [Footnote:  Trenck’s Memoirs, i., 82.] Write this to your son, madame, and receive my best wishes for yourself.”