Barbarina made her preparations.  She undertook frequently little journeys, and sometimes remained away from Berlin several days.  She bought a costly and beautiful house, to prove to the wife of the chancellor that she had no thought of leaving Berlin and returning to Italy.

Some months went by.  The king, who had yielded to the prayers of the Coccejis, and allowed them to arrest their son, would not consent to his longer confinement.  He had no trial; had committed no offence against the laws or the king; was guilty of no other crime than wishing to marry the woman he loved.

So the young councillor was released from the castle of Landsberg.  He returned to Berlin; and his first visit was not to his parents, but to Barbarina, who received him in her new house in Behren Street.

A few hours later, a carriage stood before the door, which Barbarina, accompanied by her sister and Cocceji, entered, and drove rapidly away.  No one knew where they went.  Even the spies of the Coccejis, who continually watched the house of the dancer, could learn nothing from the servants who were left behind.  A few days after, they brought the intelligence that Barbarina had returned; and the councillor dwelt with her in her new house; and the servants were commanded to call the signora Madame Cocceji. as she was his well-beloved and trusted wife.

The wife of the high chancellor laughed contemptuously at this narrative, and declared it to be only a coup de theatre.  Suddenly an equipage drove to the door.  Somewhat curious, Madame Cocceji stepped to the window; she saw that the coachman and footmen were dressed in liveries glittering with gold, and that the panels of the carriage were ornamented with the Cocceji coat-of-arms.

The Signora Barbarina was to be seen at the window.  Horrified, the wife of the chancellor stepped back; a servant entered with a card, which he handed her respectfully.

“I am not at home; I receive no visits!” cried she, after looking at the card.  The servant retired, and the carriage rolled away.

“Yes, it is true.  She has triumphed!” groaned the countess, still gazing at the card, which had these words:  “Monsieur de Cocceji and Madame de Cocceji, nee Barbarina.”—­“But she shall not succeed; the Barbarina shall never be called my daughter; this marriage shall be set aside, the ceremony was not lawful, it is contrary to the laws of the land.  Barbarina is a bourgeoise, and cannot wed a noble without the express consent of the king.  I will throw myself at the feet of his majesty and implore him to annul this marriage!”

Frederick was much exasperated, and inclined to yield to the entreaties of his high chancellor.  A short time before, he had commanded the Catholic clergy not to perform any marriage ceremony without special permission and legitimation; and his anger was aroused at their daring to disobey him, and in secrecy and silence to marry Barbarina and Cocceji.