“What makes you say that?” asked the King, uneasily.
“His own confession. The fellow boasted openly to me of the price for which he had agreed to sell his daughter. You ought to be ashamed of stooping to such a bargain.”
Maximilian blushed and bit his lip.
“I am ashamed of it,” he said. “I loathe that man as much as you do. He is so odious to me that the thought of having to encounter him almost deters me from going there, sometimes. But what else could I do? I could not expect him to understand the nature of my feelings towards his daughter. As soon as he showed me what kind of man he was, I thought the best plan was to take him at his own value, and bribe him to stand aside and hold his tongue.”
“Nevertheless it was a miserable thing to do. How should you feel if the girl were to learn the understanding you had come to with her father?”
“Ah, that is what I dread most. At all costs I must keep her innocent. You little know—and yet perhaps you do know—how deeply I feel about that girl. Surely you have been in love at some time, Auguste. You must see how difficult it is for me. I am not like the man whose love is hopeless because it is fixed on one too far above him. What I have to fear is that my love will prevail too easily, not for my own sake, but because I have the misfortune to be a king. That is why I have been coming here secretly. I want to win Dorothea’s heart, Auguste. I do not want her to become my slave. I want her to love me.”
“I am afraid she does not love you yet, my friend. Perhaps she is too young. Perhaps even in your assumed character she looks upon you as one too far above her to be thought of as a lover.”
“I am afraid of that, too. I ought to have gone there as a peasant, or as one of the foresters. But my first visit was quite accidental, and I have gone on ever since on the same footing.”
Auguste considered a moment as he walked along. Then he made a suggestion.
“Why not take her away from her father, and place her in some better position?”