With a hasty movement, Trenck opened the door—­this door which separated him from his first love, his only hope of happiness.  He entered that dimly-lighted room, toward which his weary, longing eyes had been often turned almost hopelessly.  His heart beat stormily, his breathing was irregular, he thought he might die of rapture; he feared that in the wild agitation of the moment he might utter a cry, indicative as much of suffering as of joy.

There, upon the divan, sat the Princess Amelia.  The hanging lamp lighted her face, which was fair and colorless.  She tried to rise and advance to meet him, but she had no power; she extended both her hands, and murmured a few unintelligible words.

Frederick von Trenck’s heart read her meaning; he rushed forward and covered her hands with his kisses and his tears; he fell upon his knees, and murmured words of rapture, of glowing thanks, of blessed joy—­words which filled the trembling heart of Amelia with delight.

All this fell upon the cold but listening ears of the master of ceremonies, and seemed to him as sounding brass and the tinkling cymbal.  He hid discreetly and modestly withdrawn to the back part of the room; but he looked on like a worldling, with a mocking smile at the rapture of the two lovers.  He soon found, however, that the role which he was condemned to play had its ridiculous and humiliating aspect, and he resolved to bear it no longer.  He came forward, and with his usual cool impertinence he approached the princess, who greeted him with a crimson blush and a silent bow.

“Pardon me, your royal highness, if I dare to ask you to decide a question which has arisen between my friend Trenck and myself.  He did not wish to allow me to accompany him farther than the castle window.  I declared that I was authorized by your royal highness to enter with him this holiest of holies.  Perhaps, however, I was in error, and have carried my zeal in your service too far.  I pray you, therefore, to decide.  Shall I go or stay?”

The princess had by this time entirely recovered her composure.  “Remain,” said she, with a ravishing smile, and giving her hand to the baron.  “You were our confidant from the beginning, and I desire you to be wholly so.  I wish you to be fully convinced that our love, though compelled for a while to seek darkness and obscurity, need not shun the eye of a friend.  And who knows if we may not one day need your testimony?  I do not deceive myself.  I know that this night my good and evil genius are struggling over my future—­that misfortune and shame have already perhaps stretched their wings over my head; but I will not yield to them without a struggle.  It may be that one day I shall require your aid.  Remain, therefore.”

Pollnitz bowed silently.  The princess fixed her glance upon her lover, who, with a clouded brow and sad mien, stood near.  She understood him, and a smile played upon her full, red lip.