The princess kept her word; she played with power and genius. Words of passion and of pain flowed like a stream of lava from her lips; her oaths of faith and eternal constancy, her wild entreaties, her resignation, her despair, were not the high-flown, pompous phrases of the tragedian, but truth in its omnipotence. It was living passion, it was breathing agony; and, with fast-flowing tears, with the pallor of death, she told her tale of love; and in that vast saloon, glittering with jewels, filled with the high-born, the brave, the beautiful, nothing was heard but long-drawn sighs and choking sobs.
Queen Elizabeth Christine forgot all etiquette in the remembrance of her own sad fate so powerfully recalled. She covered her face with her hands, and bitter tears fell over her slender fingers. The queen-mother, surprised at her own emotion, whispered lightly that it was very warm, and while fanning herself she sought to dry her secret tears unnoticed.
Even the king was moved; his eyes were misty, and indescribable melancholy played upon his lips. Voltaire was wild with rapture; he hung upon every movement, every glance of Amelia. Words of glowing praise, thanks, admiration flowed from his lips. He met the princess behind the scenes, and forgetting all else he cried out, with enthusiasm: "You are worthy to be an actress, and to play in Voltaire's tragedies!"
The princess smiled and passed on silently—what cared she for Voltaire's praise? She knew that she had gained her object, and that the king's heart was softened. This knowledge made her bright and brave; and when at the close of the drama the king came forward, embraced her with warmth, and thanked her in fond arid tender words for the rich enjoyment of the evening, due not only to the great poet Voltaire, but also to the genius of his sister, she reminded him smilingly that she had a favor to ask.
"I pray you, my sister," said Frederick, gayly, "ask something right royal from me this evening—I am in the mood to grant all your wishes."
Amelia looked at him pleadingly. "Sire," said she, "appoint an hour to-morrow morning in which I may come to you and make known my request. Remember, your majesty has promised to grant it in advance."
The king's face was slightly clouded. "This is, indeed, a happy coincidence," said he. "It was my intention to ask an interview with you to-morrow, and now you come forward voluntarily to meet my wishes. At ten in the morning I shall be with you, and I also have something to ask."
"I will then await you at ten o'clock, and make known my request."
"And when I have granted it, my sister, it will be your part to fulfil my wishes also."