"Love is my excuse," cried Wilhelmine, eagerly. "Oh! my ruler and king, do not shake your noble head so unbelievingly; do not look at me so contemptuously. Oh, Father in heaven, I implore Thee to quicken my mind, that my thoughts may become words, and my lips utter that which is burning in my soul! In all these years of my poor, despised, obscure life, how often have I longed for this hour when I might stand before my king, when I might penitently clasp his knees and implore mercy for myself and my children--those poor, nameless beings, whose existence is my accusation, and yet who are the pride and joy of my life! Oh, sire, I will not accuse, to excuse myself; I will not cast the stone at others which they have cast at me. But it is scarcely charitable to judge and condemn a young girl fourteen years of age, who did but obey the command of her parents, and followed the man who was the first and only one that ever whispered the word of love in her ear."

"I have heard that your parents sold their child to shame. Is it true?" cried the king.

"Sire, my father was poor; the scanty income of a chapel musician scarcely sufficed to educate and support four children. The prince promised my father to educate me."

"Bah! The promises of a young man of twenty-five are made without reflection, and rarely ever fulfilled."

"Sire, to the Prince of Prussia I owe all that I know, and all that I am; his promise to my dying father was fully redeemed."

"Indeed, by whom were you taught, and what have you learned?"

"Your majesty, the prince wished, before all, that I should learn to speak French. Madame Girard was my French instructress, and taught me to play the guitar and spinet also."

"Oh, I presume you have learned to jabber a little French and drum a little music," said the king, shrugging his shoulders.

"I beg pardon, sire; I have a tolerable knowledge of history and of geography. I am familiar with the ancient and modern poets. I have read a good French translation of Homer, Horace, and Virgil, with a master. I have studied the history of Brandenburg, of Germany, and of America. We have read the immortal works of Voltaire, of Jean Jacques Rousseau, and of Shakespeare, with many of our modern poets. My instructor has read all these works aloud to me, and he was much pleased when I repeated parts of what he had read to me some days afterward."

"You appear to have had a very learned instructor," remarked the king, sneeringly. "What is his name?"

"His name, sire, is Prince Frederick William of Prussia. Yes, it is he who has taught me--he who has made me an intelligent woman. However young he was when he undertook the task, he has accomplished it with fidelity, firmness, and patience. He loved me, and would make me worthy of him, in heart and mind. I shall ever be grateful to him, and only death can extinguish the love and esteem with which he in spires me."

"Suppose I command you to leave the prince? Suppose I will no longer endure the scandal of this sinful relation?"

"I shall never willingly separate myself from my dear prince and master--from the father of my two children. Your majesty will be obliged to force me from him," answered Wilhelmine, defiantly.

"Oh, that will not be necessary, mademoiselle," cried the king. "There are ways enough. I will make known my wishes to the prince; I will command him to leave you, and have no further communication with you."

"Sire," she answered, gently, "I know that the prince is an obedient and respectful subject and servant to his king in all things, but this command he would not obey."

"He would not dare to brave my commands!"

"He would not brave them, sire. Oh, no; it would be simply impossible to obey them."

"What would hinder him?"

"Love, sire; the respect which he owes to me as the mother of his two children--who has consecrated her love, her honor to him, and of whom no one can say that she has injured the fidelity which she has sworn to the prince--to the man of her first and only love--even with a word or look."

"You mean to say, that I cannot separate you from the prince but by force?"

"Yes, your majesty," cried she, with conscious power, "that is exactly what I mean."

"You will find yourself deceived; you will be made to realize it," said the king, with a menacing tone. "You know nothing of the power that lies in a legitimate marriage, and what rivals legitimate children are, whom one dares acknowledge before God--before the world. Boast not of the love of the prince, but remember that an honorable solitude is the only situation becoming to you. Such connections bear their own curse and punishment with them. Hasten to avoid them. Lastly, I would add, never dare to mingle your impure hands in the affairs of state. I have been obliged to give the order to the state councillors in appointments and grants of office, not to regard the protection and recommendation of a certain high personage, as you are the real protectress and bestower of mercy. Take care, and never let it happen again. You will never venture to play the little Pompadour here, nor anything else but what your dishonor allows you; otherwise you will have to deal with me! You say that you have read Homer; then, doubtless, you remember the story of Penelope, who, from conjugal fidelity, spun and wove, undoing at night what she had woven by day. It is true, you bear little resemblance to this chaste dame, but you might emulate her in spinning and weaving; and if you are not in future retiring, I can easily make a modern Penelope of you, and have you instructed in spinning, for which you will have the best of opportunities in the house of correction at Spandau. Remember this, and never permit yourself to practise protection. I will keep the spinning-wheel and the wool ready for you; that you may count upon. Remember, also, that it is very disagreeable to me that you visit my park, as I like to breathe pure air. Direct your promenade elsewhere, and avoid meeting me in future."

"Your majesty, I--"

"Silence! I have heard sufficient. You have nothing more to say to me. Go, hide your head, that no one may recognize your shame, or the levity of the prince. Go--and, farewell forever!" He motioned impatiently to her to retire, fastening his eyes with a fiery, penetrating glance upon her pale, agitated face, her bowed, humble attitude, and still continued to regard her as she painfully dragged herself down the walk, as if her limbs were giving way under her. Long stood the king gazing after her, resting upon his staff; and as she disappeared at the end of the walk, he still stood there immovable. By degrees his face assumed a milder expression. "He who is free from sin, let him cast the first stone at her," said the king, softened, as he slowly turned down the path which would lead to his carriage, waiting outside the park.

Frederick was lost in thought, and addressed no conversation to the equerry, Von Schwerin, who sat opposite to him. But as they drove through the beautiful street Unten den Linden, at Berlin, Frederick glanced at the equerry, and found that he had fallen asleep, wearied with the long silence and the monotony of the drive. The king spoke to Alkmene, loud and earnestly, until Herr von Schwerin, awakened and startled, glanced at the king, frightened, and trying to discover whether his fearful crime against etiquette would draw upon him the royal censure. Frederick, however, appeared not to notice his fright, and spoke kindly to him: "Did you not tell me, Schwerin, that Count Schmettau would sell his country residence at Charlottenburg?"

"At your service, your majesty, he asked me to purchase it, or find him a purchaser."

"How much is it worth?"

"Sire, Count Schmettau demands eight thousand dollars for it. There is a beautiful park belonging to it, and the house is worthy the name of a castle, so large is it."

"Why do you not buy it, if the count offered it to you?"

The equerry assumed a sad mien, and answered, sighing: "Sire, I should be the happiest of men if I could buy that charming residence, and it would be a real blessing to me if I could enjoy in summer at times the fresh air. My finances unfortunately, do not allow such expenses, as I am not rich, and have a large family."

"Then you are right not to spend money unnecessarily," said the king, quietly. "You can have as much fresh air at Potsdam as can ever enter your mouth, and it costs neither you nor I any thing. Say to Count Schmettau that you have a purchaser for his residence at Charlottenburg."

"Oh, you are really too kind," cried the equerry, in an excitement of joy; "I do not know--"

Here the carriage entered the palace court, and the concluding words were inaudible. Herr von Schwerin alighted quickly to assist the king. "Say to Schmettau to present himself to my treasurer and cabinet councillor, Menkon, tomorrow morning at twelve o'clock, at Sans-Souci."

The king nodded kindly to the equerry, and passed into the Swiss saloon, and farther on into the private rooms which he was accustomed to occupy whenever he remained at the capital. The Swiss saloon was fast filling, not alone with the generals and staff- officers of the Berlin garrison, but with the officers of the regiments from the provinces, who presented themselves at the palace according to the order of the king. The most of them were old and worn out, body and mind. They all looked morose and sorrowful. The great news of the approaching war with Austria had spread through the military. The old laurel-crowned generals of the Seven Years' War were unwilling to go forth to earn new laurels, for which they had lost all ambition. Not one dared betray his secret thoughts to another, or utter a word of disapproval. The king's spies were everywhere, and none could trust himself to converse with his neighbor, as he might prove to be one of them. There reigned an anxious, oppressive silence; the generals and staff-officers