"Let us have it over with," replied Prince Ludwig sadly.
"The king?" Gretchen laughed shrilly. "What jest is this, Leopold?"
The king, still holding her hands, looked down.
"Leopold?" plaintively.
Still he did not speak, still he averted his head. But God knew that his heart was on the rack.
The princess, remaining in the background, not daring to interfere, felt the smart of tears in her eyes. Ah, the poor tender little goose-girl! The pity of it! This king was a scoundrel.
"Leo, look at me! You are laughing! Why, did we not work together in the vineyards, and did we not plan for the future? Ah, yes! You are a king only to me. I see. But it is a cruel jest, Leopold. Smile at me! Say something!" Gretchen was hanging to the bars now; her body, held in the vise of growing terror, was almost a dead weight.
"Gretchen, forgive me!" despairingly.
"He asks me to forgive him!" dully. "For what?"
"For being a villain! Yes," his voice keen with agony. "I am the king of Jugendheit. But am I less a man for that? Ah, God help me, I have a right to love like other men! Do not doubt me, Gretchen; do not think that I played with you. I love you better than my crown, better than my honor!"