“It is true, Amelia is more beautiful, in the common acceptation of the word; her eyes are larger, her cheek rosier, her smile more fresh and youthful, and her small but graceful figure is at the same time childlike and voluptuous.  She would make an enchanting shepherdess, but is not fitted to be a queen.  She has no majesty, no presence.  She has not by nature that imposing gravity, which is the gift of Providence, and cannot be acquired, and without which the queen is sometimes forgotten in the woman.  Amelia can never attain that eternal calm, that exalted composure, which checks all approach to familiarity, and which, by an almost imperceptible pressure of the hand and a light smile, bestows more happiness and a more liberal reward than the most impassioned tenderness and the warmest caresses of a commonplace woman.  No, Amelia could never make a complete queen, she can only be a beautiful woman; while I—­I know that I am less lovely, but I feel that I am born to rule.  I have the grace and figure of a queen—­yes, I have the soul of a queen!  I would understand how to be imposing, and, at the same time, to obtain the love of my people, not from any weak thirst for love, but from a queenly ambition.  But I am set aside, and Amelia will be a queen; my fate will be that of my elder sisters, I shall wed a poor margrave, or paltry duke, and may indeed thank God if I am not an old maiden princess, with a small pension.”

She stamped wildly upon the floor, and paced the room with hasty steps.  Suddenly she grew calmer, her brow, which had been overshadowed by dark clouds, cleared, and a faint smile played upon those lips which a moment before had been compressed by passion.

“After all,” she said, “the formal demand for the hand of Amelia has not yet been made; perhaps the ambassador has mistaken my name for that of Amelia, and as he has made no direct proposition, I am convinced he wishes to make some observations before deciding.  Now, if the result of this examination should prove to him that Amelia is not fitted to be the wife of his prince, and if Amelia herself—­I thought I saw that she turned pale as the king spoke of abandoning her faith; and when she left the room, despair and misery were written upon that face which should have glowed with pride and triumph.  Ah, I see land!” said Ulrica, breathing freely and sinking comfortably upon the divan, “I am no longer hopelessly shipwrecked; I have found a plank, which may perhaps save me.  Let me consider calmly,”—­and, as if Fate itself were playing into her hand, the door opened and Amelia entered.

One glance was sufficient to show Ulrica that she was not deceived, and that this important event had brought no joy to poor Amelia.  The lovely eyes of the princess were red with weeping; and the soft lips, so generally and gladly given to gay chat and merry laughter, were now expressive of silent anguish.  Ulrica saw all this, and laid her plans accordingly.  In place of receiving Amelia coldly and repulsively, which but a few moments before she would have done, she sprang to meet her with every sign of heart-felt love; the little maiden threw herself weeping convulsively into her sister’s arms, and was pressed closely and tenderly to her bosom.