In outward appearance, as well as in character, the Princess Amelia greatly resembled her royal brother:  like him, she was by nature trusting and confiding; but, once deceived, despair and doubt took possession of her.  A deadly mildew destroyed the love which she had cherished, not only for her betrayer, but her confidence and trust in all around her.  Great and magnanimous herself, she now felt that the rich fountain of her love and her innocent, girlish credulity were choked within her heart.  With trembling lips, she said aloud and firmly:  “I will never more have a friend.  I do not believe in friendship.  Women are all false, all cunning, all selfish.  My heart is closed to them, and their deceitful smiles and plausible words can never more betray me.  Oh, my God, my God! must I then be always solitary, always alone? must I—­”

Suddenly she paused, and a rich crimson blush overspread her face.  What was it which interrupted her sorrowful words?  Why did she fix her eyes upon the door so eagerly?  Why did she listen so earnestly to that voice calling her name from the corridor.

“Pollnitz, it is Pollnitz!” she whispered to herself, and she trembled fearfully.

“I must speak with the Princess Amelia,” cried the master of ceremonies.

“But that is impossible,” replied another voice; “her royal highness has closed the door, and will receive no one.”

“Her royal highness will open the door and allow me to enter as soon as you announce me.  I come upon a most important mission.  The life-happiness of more than one woman depends upon my errand.”

“My God!” said Amelia, turning deadly pale, “Pollnitz may betray me if I refuse to open the door.”  So saying, she sprang forward and drew back the bolt.

“Look, now, Mademoiselle von Marwitz,” cried Pollnitz, as he bowed profoundly, “was I not right?  Our dear princess was graciously pleased to open the door so soon as she heard my voice.  Remark that, mademoiselle, and look upon me in future as a most important person, who is not only accorded les grandes but les petites entrees.”

The Princess Amelia was but little inclined to enter into the jests of the master of ceremonies.

“I heard,” said she, in a harsh tone, “that you demanded importunately to see me, and you went so far as to declare that the happiness of many men depended upon this interview.”

“Pardon me, your highness, I only said that the happiness of more than one woman depended upon it; and you will graciously admit that I have spoken the truth when you learn the occasion which brings me here.”

“Well, let us hear,” said Amelia, “and woe to you if it is not a grave and important affair!”

“Grave indeed:  it concerns the toilets for a ball, and you must confess that the happiness of more than one woman hangs upon this question.”

“In truth, you are right, and if you came as milliner or dressmaker, Mademoiselle von Marwitz did wrong not to announce you immediately.”