“And this is the favor you demand of me?” said the king.

“The favor you have promised to grant,” said Amelia.

“And if I do this, will you fulfil my wish?  Will you become the wife of the King of Denmark?  Ah, you are silent.  Now, then, listen.  Consent to become Queen of Denmark, and on the day in which you pass the boundary of Prussia and enter your own realm as queen, on that day I will recall Trenck to Berlin, and all shall be forgotten.  Trenck shall again enter my guard, and my ambassador at Vienna shall appear for him in court.  Decide, now, Amelia—­will you be Queen of Denmark?”

“Ah, sire, you offer me a cruel alternative.  You wish me to purchase a favor which you had already freely and unconditionally granted.”

“You forget, my sister, that I entreat where I have the right to command.  It will be easy to obey when through your obedience you can make another happy.  Once more, then, will you accept my proposition?”

Amelia did not answer immediately.  She fixed her eyes steadily upon the king’s face; their glances met firmly, quietly.  Each read in the eyes of the other inexorable resolve.

“Sire, I cannot accept your proposition; I cannot become the wife of the King of Denmark.”

The king shrank back, and a dark cloud settled upon his brow.  He pressed his hand nervously upon the arm-chair near which he stood, and forced himself to appear calm.  “And why can you not become the wife of the King of Denmark?”

“Because I have sworn solemnly, calling upon God to witness, that I will never become the wife of any other man than him whom I love—­ because I consider myself bound to God and to my conscience to fulfil this oath.  As I cannot be the wife of Trenck, I will remain unmarried.”

And now the king was crimson with rage, and his eyes flashed fiercely.  “The wife of Trenck!” cried he; “the wife of a traitor!  Ah, you think still of him, and in spite of your vow—­in spite of your solemn oath—­you still entertain the hope of this unworthy alliance!”

“Sire, remember on what conditions my oath was given.  You promised me Trenck should be free, and I swore to give him up—­never even to write to him.  Fate did not accept my oath.  Trenck fled before you had time to fulfil your word, and I was thus released from my vow; and yet I have never written to him—­have heard nothing from him.  No one knows better than yourself that I have not heard from him.”

“So five years have gone by without his writing to you, and yet you have the hardihood to-day to call his name!”

“I have the courage, sire, because I know well Trenck has never ceased to love me.  That I have received no letters from him does not prove that he has not written; it only proves that I am surrounded by watchful spies, who do not allow his letters to reach me.”

“Ah,” said the king, with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders, “you are of the opinion that I have suppressed these letters?”