Her bearing was proud, almost dictatorial.  Her sternly tranquil manner, her clear and earnest brow, showed plainly that she had formed an heroic determination.  She was no longer the young girl, timidly praying for her lover; she was the fearless woman, determined to defend him, or die for him.  The king read this in her countenance, it was plainly indicated in her royal bearing; and with the reverence and consideration which great spirits ever accord to misfortune, he did homage to this woman toward whom he was so strongly drawn by sympathy and pity.

“Come, my sister, come,” said he, offering his hand.

Amelia did not take his hand; by his side she walked into the library, and softly locked the door behind her.  One moment she rested against the wall, as if to gather strength.  The king hastily crossed the room, and looked out at the window.  Hearing the rustle of her dress behind him, he turned and advanced toward the princess.  She regarded him fixedly with cold and tearless eyes.

“Is it sufficient if I promise never to see him again?” said she.

“The promise is superfluous, for I will make a future meeting impossible.”

She inclined her head slightly, as if this answer had been expected.

“Is it enough if I swear never to write to him again, nevermore to give him a token of my love?”

“I would not believe this oath.  If I set him at liberty he would compromise you and your family, by boasting of a love which yielded to circumstances and necessity only, and not to reason and indifference.  I will make you no reproaches at present, for I think your conscience is doing that for me.  But this much I will say:  I will not set him at liberty until he no longer believes in your love.”

“Will you liberate him if I rob him of this belief?  If I hurl the broken bond of my promised faith in his face?  If I tell him that fear and cowardice have extinguished my love, and that I bid him farewell forever?”

“Write him this, and I promise you that he shall be free in a few months; but, understand me well, free to go where he will, but banished from my kingdom.”

“Shall I write at once?” said she with an expression of utter indifference, and with icy tranquillity.

“Write; you will find all that is necessary on my escritoire.”

She walked composedly to the table and seated herself.  When she commenced writing, a deathly pallor came over her face; her breath came and went hurriedly and painfully.  The king stood near, regarding her with an expression of deep solicitude.

“Have you finished?” said he, as she pushed the paper aside on which she had been writing.

“No,” said she calmly, “it was only a tear that had fallen on the paper.  I must begin again.”  And with perfect composure she took another sheet of paper, and began writing anew.