“He has the face of a Ganymede and the figure of a Hercules,” said one.  “I think him as beautiful as the Apollo Belvedere,” said the other; “and then his expression is so pure and innocent.  I envy the woman who will be his first love.”

“You think, then, that he has never loved?”

“I am sure of it.  The passion and fire of his heart are yet concealed under the veil of youth.  He is unmoved by a woman’s tender smiles and her speaking and promising glances.  He does not understand their meaning.”

“Have you tried these powerful weapons?”

“I have, and I confess wholly in vain; but I have not given up the contest, and I shall renew the attack until—­”

The ladies now moved slowly away, and the princess heard no more, but she knew their voices; they were Madame von Brandt and Louise von Kleist, whom the king often called the “loveliest of the lovely.”  Louise von Kleist, the irresistible coquette, who was always surrounded by worshippers and adorers, confessed to her friend that all her tender glances had been unavailing; that she had in vain attempted to melt the ice-rind of his heart.

“But she will renew her efforts,” cried Amelia, and her heart trembled with its first throb of jealousy.  “Oh, I know Louise von Kleist!  She will pursue him with her tenderness, her glances of love, and bold encouragement, until he admires, falls at her feet a willing victim.  But no, no, I cannot suffer that.  She shall not rob me of my only happiness—­the golden dream of my young life.  He belongs to me, he is mine by the mighty power of passion, he is bound to me by a thousand holy oaths.  I am his first love.  I am that happy woman whom he adores, and who is envied by the beauteous Louise von Schwerin.  He is mine and he shall be mine, in spite of the whole world.  I love him, and I give myself to him.”

And now she once more looked through the curtains and shrank back in sweet surprise.  Right before her stood Trenck—­the Apollo of Louise von Kleist, the Hercules and the Ganymede of Madame von Brandt, the beloved of the Princess Amelia—­Trenck stood with folded arms immovable, and gazed piercingly in the crowd of maskers.  Perhaps he sought for Amelia; perhaps he was sorrowful because she had withdrawn herself.

Suddenly he heard a soft, low voice whispering:  “Do not move, do not turn—­remain standing as you are; but if you hear and understand me, bow your head.”

Frederick von Trenck bowed his head.  But the princess could not see the rapturous expression which illuminated his face; she could not know that his breath almost failed him; she could not hear the stormy, tumultuous beating of his heart.

“Do you know who speaks? if you recognize me, incline your head.”

The music sounded loud and clear, and the dancing feet, the gay jest, and merry laughter of five hundred persona gave confidence and security to the lovers, Frederick was not content with this silent sign.  He turned toward the recess and said in low tones:  “I know the voice of my angel, and I would fall upon my knees and worship her, but it would bring danger and separation.”