"I implore your royal highness to be the judge," said Louise.

"How can I decide to whom the letter belongs, as it bears no name?" said the princess, smiling.

"By opening and reading it," said the young girl, with apparent frankness. "The letter is from my mother, and I do not care to conceal its contents from your royal highness." "Are you willing, Madame von Morien? shall I open this letter?"

But before the amazed and terrified young woman found time for a reply, Madame von Brandt approached the princess with a smiling countenance. She had in this moment of danger conceived a desperate resolution. The prince royal had informed her that this paper contained a poem. Why might not this poem have been intended for the princess as well as for Madame von Morien? It contained, without a doubt, a declaration of love, and such declarations are suitable for any woman, and welcome to all.

"If your royal highness will permit me, I am ready to throw light on this mystery," said Madame von Brandt.

The princess bowed permission.

"This letter belongs neither to Madame von Morien nor to Mademoiselle von Schwerin," said Madame von Brandt.

"You promised to enlighten us," exclaimed the princess, laughing, "and it appears to me you have made the mystery more impenetrable. The letter belongs neither to Madame von Morien nor to little Louise. To whom, then, does it belong?"

"It belongs to your royal highness."

"To me?" asked the astonished princess, while Madame von Morien gazed at her friend with speechless horror, and Mademoiselle von Schwerin laughed aloud.

"Yes, this letter belongs to your royal highness. The prince royal gave it to me, with the command to place it

upon your table, before you went to your dressing-room; but I was too late, and understood that your highness was occupied with your toilet. I dared not disturb you, and retained the letter in order to hand it to you now. As I held it in my hand, and said jestingly to Madame von Morien that the prince royal had forgotten to write the address, Mademoiselle von Schwerin came and tore it from me in a most unladylike manner, and declared it was hers. That is the whole history."

"And you say that the letter is mine?" said the princess, thoughtfully.

"It is yours, and it contains a poem from his royal highness."

"Then I can break the seal?" said the princess, tearing open the paper. "Ah!" she cried, with a happy smile, "it is a poem from my husband."

"And here comes his royal highness to confirm the truth of my statement," cried Madame von Brandt, stepping aside.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE BANQUET.

MADAME VON BRANDT was right. The prince royal, surrounded by the cavaliers of his court, entered the saloon just as the princess had commenced reading the poem.

On his entrance a murmur of applause arose, and the countenance of his wife was radiant with pleasure and delight on beholding this handsome and engaging young prince, whom she, emboldened by the love-verses which she held in her hand, joyfully greeted as her husband. On this day the prince did not appear as usual in the uniform of his

regiment, but was attired in a French costume of the latest fashion. He wore a snuff-colored coat of heavy moire-antique, ornamented at the shoulders with long bows of lace, the ends of which were bordered with silver fringe. His trousers, of the same color and material, reached to his knees, and were here ornamented with rich lace, which hung far down over his silk stockings. On the buckles of his high, red-heeled shoes, glittered immense diamonds. These gems were, however, eclipsed by the jewelled buttons which confined his long, silver-brocaded waistcoat.*

The costume of the cavaliers who accompanied the prince was of the same style, but less rich.

As this group of handsome and richly-attired gentlemen entered the saloon, the bright eyes of the ladies sparkled, and their cheeks colored with pleasure.

The princess royal's countenance was illumined with delight; never had she seen the prince so handsome, never had he looked so loving. And this was all for her, the chosen one, whom he now blessed with his love. Yes, he loved her! She had only read the commencement of the poem which he had written, but in this she had seen words of tender and passionate love.

While she was gazing on her husband in silent ecstasy, Madame von Brandt approached the prince, and gracefully recounting the scene which had just occurred, requested him to confirm her statement.

The prince's quick glance flitted for a moment from the beautiful Morien, who trembled with consternation and terror, to his wife, and, judging by the pleased expression of her face, he concluded that she believed this poem had been really addressed to herself. She had, therefore, not read it to the end; she had not yet arrived at the verse which con

* Bielfeld, vol. ii., page 82.

tained a direct appeal to the beautiful Tourbillon, the charming Leontine. She must not be permitted to read the entire poem. That was all!

The prince approached his wife with a smile, to which she was unaccustomed, and which made her heart beat high with delight.

"I crave your indulgence," said he, "for my poor little poem, which reached you in so noisy a manner, and is really scarcely worth reading. Read it in some solitary hour when you are troubled with ennui; it may then possibly amuse you for a moment. We will not occupy ourselves with verses and poems to-day, but will laugh and be merry; that is, if it pleases you, madame.”

The princess murmured a few low and indistinct words. As usual, she could find no expression for her thoughts, although her heart was full of love and delight. This modest shyness of the lips, this poverty of words, with her rich depth of feeling, was the great misfortune of the princess royal. It was this that made her appear awkward, constrained, and spiritless; it was this that displeased and estranged her husband. Her consciousness of this deficiency made her still more timid and constrained, and deprived her of what little power of expression she possessed.

Had she at this moment found courage to make a ready and witty reply, her husband would have been much pleased. Her silence, however, excited his displeasure, and his brow darkened.

He offered her his arm; and, exchanging glances with Madame Morien, he conducted his wife to the dining-saloon, to the magnificently arranged and glittering table.

"The gardener of Rheinsberg, Frederick of Hohenzollern, invites his friends to partake of what he has provided. For the prince royal is fortunately not at home; we can, there

fore, be altogether sans gène, and follow our inclinations, as the mice do when the cat is not at home."

He seated himself between his wife and Madame Morien, whispering to the latter: "Beautiful Tourbillon, my heart is in flames, and I rely upon you to quench them. You must save me!"

"Oh, this heart of yours is a phoenix, and arises from its ashes renewed and rejuvenated."

"But only to destroy itself again," said the prince. Then taking his glass and surveying his guests with a rapid glance, he exclaimed: "Our first toast shall be youth—youth of which the old are envious!—youth and beauty, which are so brilliantly represented here to-day, that one might well imagine Venus had sent us all her daughters and playmates, as well as all her lovers, the deposed and discarded ones as well as those whom she still favors, and only proposes to discard."

The glasses rang out merrily in answer to this toast, and all betook themselves with evident zest to the costly and savory dishes, prepared by the master-hand of Duvall the French cook, and which the prince seasoned with the Attic salt of his ever-ready wit.

They all gave themselves up to gayety and merriment, and pleasure sparkled in every eye.

The corpulent Knobelsdorf related in a stentorian voice some amusing anecdotes of his travels. Chazot recited portions of Voltaire's latest work. The learned and witty Count Kaiserling recited verses from the "Henriade," and then several of Gellert's fables, which were becoming very popular. He conversed with his neighbor, the artist Pesne, on the subject of the paintings which his masterly hand had executed, and then turning to Mademoiselle von Schwerin, he painted in glowing colors the future of Berlin-the future when they would have a French theatre, an Italian opera,