She was wonderfully beautiful in this position; those raised arms, that noble, transparently pale, tear-stained countenance. Sophia Dorothea saw it, and it made her feel more bitter, more cruel.
"Ah, she dares to reproach me," she cried, contemptuously; "she still has a slight consciousness of her shame; she trembles to hear what she did not tremble to do! Listen, my daughter, you that have for her so warm, so pitiful a heart; you who, when I have spoken, will detest and curse her as I do, and as you are entitled to do. Believe me, Elizabeth, I know all your suffering, all your sorrow; I know the secret history of your noble, proud, and silent heart. Ask that girl there of your grief and misery; ask her the reason of your lonely, tearful nights; demand of her your broken happiness, your crushed hopes; demand of her your husband's love, your soul's peace. Mademoiselle von Pannewitz can return them all to you, as she has taken them from you, for she is the mistress of the king."
"Mistress of the king!" said Elizabeth, with a painful cry, while Laura let her hands glide from her face, and looked at the queen with an astonished expression.
"Yes," repeated Sophia Dorothea, whose hot blood rushed so violently through her veins that her voice faltered, and she was scarcely able to retain an appearance of self-control; "yes, she is the mistress of the king, and therefore refuses to marry Count Voss! But patience, patience, she shall not triumph! and if she dares to love my son, the son of the queen, King Frederick of Prussia, I will remind her of Dorris Ritter, who loved him, and was beloved by him! This Dorris was flogged through the streets of Berlin, and cast out from amongst men."
Laura uttered so loud and fearful a cry that even the queen-mother was startled, and for a moment touched with pity for the poor, broken-hearted girl who lay at her feet, like a poor, wounded gazelle in the convulsive agonies of death.
But she would not give way to this pity; would not betray a weakness, of which she was ashamed. Taking the hand of the young queen and casting a look of disdain at Laura, she said, "Come, my daughter, we will no longer bear the presence of this person, whose tears, I hope, spring from repentance and acknowledgment of her offence; may she obtain our pardon by resolving to-day, of her own free will, and without forcing us to harsher measures, to accept the hand of Count Voss; come, my daughter."
The two queens stepped to the door. Sophia threw it open violently, and passed immediately into the boudoir, but Elizabeth did not follow her. She looked back at the poor sobbing girl lying upon the floor. The pale and noble face touched her womanly heart.
"Pardon, your majesty, if I do not follow immediately; I should like to say a few words to Mademoiselle von Pannewitz; I think I have a right to do so."
The queen-mother experienced a cruel pleasure at these words.
"Oh, my daughter, even your forbearance is exhausted, and you feel that forgiveness is impossible; yes, speak to her, and let her feel the whole weight of your righteous indignation. Words of reproach and accusation from your gentle lips will have a crushing power. But no delay—you know the king will soon be here."