Part 16 (2/2)
”Well, then,” said Amelia, smiling, ”I consent to play Mentor to my maid of honor.”
”Your royal highness promises then, solemnly, to be present at every conference between Mademoiselle von Marwitz and her irresistible partner?”
”I promise; be quick! Marwitz will die of curiosity, if you do not tell the name of this wonder.”
”Well, now, that I have, so far as it is in my power, guarded the heart of this young girl from disaster, and placed it under the protecting eye of our n.o.ble princess, I venture to name my paragon.
He is the young lieutenant-Baron von Trenck, the favorite of the king and the court.”
Very different was the impression made by this name upon the two ladies. The eager countenance of Mademoiselle von Marwitz expressed cool displeasure; while the princess, blus.h.i.+ng and confused, turned aside to conceal the happy smile which played upon her full, rosy lips.
Pollnitz, who had seen all this, wished to give the princess time to collect herself. He turned to Mademoiselle Marwitz and said: ”I see, to my amazement, that our lovely maid of honor is not so enraptured as I had hoped. Mademoiselle, mademoiselle! you are a wonderful actress, but you cannot deceive me. You wish to seem disappointed and indifferent, in order to induce our gracious princess to withdraw her promise to me, and to think it unnecessary to be present at your interviews with Trenck. This acting is in vain. The princess has given her word, and she will most surely keep it.”
”Certainly,” said Amelia, smiling, ”I have no alternative. Queens and princesses, kings and princes, are bound by their promises, even as common men, and their honor demands that they fulfil their contracts. I will keep my word. But enough of jesting for the present. Let us speak now of the solemn realities of life, namely, of our toilets. Baron, give me your model engraving, and make known your views. Call my chambermaid, mademoiselle, and my dressmakers; we will hold a solemn conference.”
CHAPTER II.
THE TEMPTER.
As Mademoiselle von Marwitz left the room, Pollnitz took a sealed note from his pocket and handed it hastily to the princess. She concealed it in the pocket of her dress, and continued to gaze indifferently upon a painting of Watteau, which hung upon the wall.
”Not one word! Still! Not one word!” whispered Pollnitz. ”You are resolved to drive my young friend to despair. You will not grant him one gracious word?”
The princess turned away her blus.h.i.+ng face, drew a note from her bosom, and, without a glance or word in reply, she handed it to the master of ceremonies, ashamed and confused, as a young girl always is, when she enters upon her first love romance, or commits her first imprudence.
Pollnitz kissed her hand with a lover's rapture. ”He will be the most blessed of mortals,” said he, ”and yet this is so small a favor! It lies in the power of your royal highness to grant him heavenly felicity. You can fulfil one wish which his trembling lips have never dared to speak; which only G.o.d and the eyes of one faithful friend have seen written in his heart.”
”What is this wish?” said the princess, in so low and trembling a whisper, that Pollnitz rather guessed than heard her words.
”I believe that he would pay with his life for the happiness of sitting one hour at your feet and gazing upon you.”
”Well, you have prepared for him this opportunity; you have so adroitly arranged your plans, that I cannot avoid meeting him.”
”Ah, princess, how despondent would he be, if he could hear these cold and cruel words! I must comfort him by this appearance of favor if I cannot obtain for him a real happiness. Your royal highness is very cold, very stern toward my poor friend. My G.o.d! he asks only of your grace, that which the humblest of your brother's subjects dare demand of him--an audience--that is all.”
Amelia fixed her burning eyes upon Pollnitz. ”Apage, Satanas!” she whispered, with a weary smile.
”You do me too much honor,” said Pollnitz. ”Unhappily I am not the devil, who is, without doubt, next to G.o.d, the most powerful ruler of this earth. I am convinced that three-fourths of our race belong to him. I am, alas! but a poor, weak mortal, and my words have not the power to move the heart of your highness to pity.”
”My G.o.d! Pollnitz, why all this eloquence and intercession?” cried Amelia. ”Do I not allow him to write to me all that he thinks and feels? Am I not traitress enough to read all his letters, and pardon him for his love? What more can he dare hope for? Is it not enough that he loves a princess, and tells her so? Not enough--”
She ceased suddenly; her eyes, which shrank from meeting the bold, reproachful, and ironical glance of the baron, had wandered restlessly about the room and fell now upon the picture of Watteau; upon the loving, happy pair, who were tenderly embracing under the oaks in the centre of that enchanting landscape. This group, upon which the eye of the princess accidentally rested, was an eloquent and decisive answer to her question--an answer made to the eyes, if not the ears of Amelia--and her heart trembled.
Pollnitz had followed her glances, and understood her blushes and her confusion. He stepped to the picture and pointed to the tender lovers.
”Gracious princess, demand of these blessed ones, if a man who loves pa.s.sionately has nothing more to implore of his mistress than the permission to write her letters?”
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