The princess smiled and passed on silently—­what cared she for Voltaire’s praise?  She knew that she had gained her object, and that the king’s heart was softened.  This knowledge made her bright and brave; and when at the close of the drama the king came forward, embraced her with warmth, and thanked her in fond arid tender words for the rich enjoyment of the evening, due not only to the great poet Voltaire, but also to the genius of his sister, she reminded him smilingly that she had a favor to ask.

“I pray you, my sister,” said Frederick, gayly, “ask something right royal from me this evening—­I am in the mood to grant all your wishes.”

Amelia looked at him pleadingly.  “Sire,” said she, “appoint an hour to-morrow morning in which I may come to you and make known my request.  Remember, your majesty has promised to grant it in advance.”

The king’s face was slightly clouded.  “This is, indeed, a happy coincidence,” said he.  “It was my intention to ask an interview with you to-morrow, and now you come forward voluntarily to meet my wishes.  At ten in the morning I shall be with you, and I also have something to ask.”

“I will then await you at ten o’clock, and make known my request.”

“And when I have granted it, my sister, it will be your part to fulfil my wishes also.”

CHAPTER VI.

A woman’s heart.

The Princess Amelia lay the whole of the following night, with wide-open eyes and loudly-heating heart, pale and breathless upon her couch.  No soft slumber soothed her feverish-glowing brow; no sweet dream of hope dissipated the frightful pictures drawn by her tortured fantasy.

“What is it?” said she, again and again—­“what is it that the king will ask of me? what new mysterious horror rises up threateningly before me, and casts a shadow upon my future?”

She brought every word, every act of the previous day in review before her mind.  Suddenly she recalled the sad and sympathetic glance of her maid of honor; the light insinuations, the half-uttered words which seemed to convey a hidden meaning.

“Ernestine knows something that she will not tell me,” cried Amelia.  At this thought her brow was covered with cold perspiration, and her limbs shivered as if with ague.  She reached out her hand to ring for Fraulein von Haak; then suddenly withdrew it, ashamed of her own impatience.  “Why should I wish to know that which I cannot change?  I know that a misfortune threatens me.  I will meet it with a clear brow and a bold heart.”

Amelia lay motionless till the morning.  When she rose from her bed, her features wore an expression of inexorable resolve.  Her eyes flashed as boldly, as daringly as her royal brother Frederick’s when upon the battle-field.  She dressed herself carefully and tastefully, advanced to meet her ladies with a gracious greeting, and chattered calmly and cheerfully with them on indifferent subjects.  At last she was left alone with Fraulein von Haak.  She stepped in front of her, and looked in her eyes long and searchingly.