The proud queen-mother had also received this announcement angrily.  “I think, sire,” said she, “that the daughter of William the Second, and the sister of the King of Prussia, might be allowed to remain true to the faith of her fathers.”

“Madame,” said the king, bowing reverentially, “the question is not, I am sorry to say, as to Amelia’s father or brother; she will be the mother of sons, who, according to the law of the land, must be brought up in the religion of their father.  You see, then, that if this marriage takes place, one of the two contracting parties must yield; and, it appears to me, that is the calling and the duty of the woman.”

“Oh, yes,” said the queen bitterly, “you have been educated in too good a school, and are too thoroughly a Hohenzollern, not to believe in the complete self-renunciation of women.  At this court, women have only to obey.”

“Nevertheless, the women do rule over us; and even when we appear to command, we are submissive and obedient,” said the king, as he kissed his mother’s hand and withdrew.

The three ladies also retired to their own rooms immediately.  Each one was too much occupied with her own thoughts to bear the presence of another.

And now, being alone, the Princess Ulrica found it no longer necessary to retain the smiles which she had so long and with such mighty effort forced to play upon her lips; every pulse was beating with glowing rage, and she gave free course to her scorn.

Her younger sister, this little maiden of eighteen years, was to be married, to wed a future king; while she, the eldest, now two-and-twenty, remained unchosen!  And it was not her own disinclination nor the will of the king which led to this shameful result; no! the Swedish ambassador came not to seek her hand, but that of her sister!  She, the elder, was scorned—­set aside.  The king might truthfully say there was no law of the land which forbade the marriage of the younger sister before the elder; but there was a law of custom and of propriety, and this law was trampled upon.

As Ulrica thought over these things, she rose from her seat with one wild spring.  On entering the room she had completely overcome, and, with trembling knees, she had fallen upon the divan.  She stood now, however, like a tigress prepared for attack, and looking for the enemy she was resolved to slay.  The raging, stormy blood of the Hohenzollerns was aroused.  The energy and pride of her mother glowed with feverish pulses in her bosom.  She would have been happy to find an enemy opposed to her, the waves of passion rushing through her veins might have been assuaged; but she was alone, entirely alone, and had no other enemy to overcome than herself.  She must, then, declare war against her own evil heart.  With wild steps she rushed to the glass, and scrutinizingly and fiercely examined her own image.  Her eye was cold, searching, and stern.  Yes, she would prove herself; she would know if it were any thing in her own outward appearance which led the Swedish ambassador to choose her sister rather than herself.