“Still! say no more,” whispered the voice; and Trenck knew by its trembling tones, that the maiden was inspired by the same ardent passion which glowed in every fibre of his being.  That still small voice sounded in his ears like the notes of an organ:  “Say no more, but listen.  To-morrow the Princess Ulrica departs for Sweden, and the king goes to Potsdam; you will accompany him.  Have you a swift horse that knows the way from Potsdam to Berlin, and can find it by night?”

“I have a swift horse, and for me and my horse there is no night.”

“Four nights from this you will find the window which you know open, and the door which leads to the small stair, only closed.  Come at the hour of eleven, and you will receive a compensation for the scarf you have lost this evening.  Hush—­no word; look not around, move onward indifferently; turn not your head.  Farewell! in four days—­at eleven—­go!”

“I had to prepare a coat of mail for him, in order that he might be invulnerable,” whispered Amelia tremblingly; exhausted and remorseful, she sank back upon the tabouret.  “The beautiful Kleist shall not ravish my beloved from me.  He loves me—­me alone; and he shall no longer complain of my cruelty.  I dare not be cruel!  I dare not make him unhappy, for she might comfort him.  He shall love nothing but me, only me!  If Louise von Kleist pursues him with her arts, I will murder her—­that is all!”

CHAPTER V.

A shame-faced king.

The king laid his flute aside, and walked restlessly and sullenly about his room.  His brow was clouded, and he had in vain sought distraction in his faithful friend, the flute.  Its soft, melodious voice brought no relief; the cloud was in his heart, and made him the slave of melancholy.  Perhaps it was the pain of separation from his sister which oppressed his spirit.

The evening before, the princess had taken leave of the Berliners at the opera-house, that is, she had shown herself to them for the last time.  While the prima donna was singing her most enchanting melodies, the travelling carriage of Ulrica drove to the door.  The king wished to spare himself the agony of a formal parting, and had ordered that she should enter her carriage at the close of the opera, and depart, without saying farewell.

The people knew this.  They were utterly indifferent to the beautiful opera of “Rodelinda,” and fixed their eyes steadily upon the king’s loge.  They thus took a silent and affectionate leave of their young princess, who appeared before them for the last time, in all the splendor of her youth and beauty, and the dignity of her proud and royal bearing.  An unwonted silence reigned throughout the house; all eyes were turned to the box where the princess sat between the two queens.  Suddenly the door was thrown open, and the young Prince Ferdinand rushed, with open arms, to his sister.