The queen-mother proposed to her son and Elizabeth to walk in the garden, and then to have a simple dance in the brilliant saloons. The court mourning would not allow a regular ball at this time.
"But why should we seek for flowers in the garden," said the king; "can there be lovelier blossoms than those now blooming on every side?" His eye wandered around the circle of lovely maids of honor, who cast their eyes blushingly to the ground.
Six eyes followed this glance of Frederick with painful interest.
"He scarcely looked at Laura von Pannewitz," said the queen, with a relieved expression.
"He did not once glance toward me," thought Elizabeth, sighing heavily.
"His eye did not rest for more than a moment upon any woman here," thought Pollnitz; "so it is clear he has no favorite in this circle. I will, therefore, succeed with my beautiful Dorris."
Frederick wished to spare his mother the fatigue of a walk in the garden—she was lame and growing fleshy; he therefore led her to a seat, and bowing silently, he gave his left hand to his wife and placed her by his mother.
Sophia, who watched every movement and every expression of her royal son, observed the cruel silence which he maintained toward his wife, and she felt pity for the poor, pale, neglected queen. Sophia leaned toward the king, who stood hat in hand behind her divan, and whispered:
"I believe, my son, you have not spoken one word to your wife!"
The king's face clouded. "Madame," said he, in a low but firm tone, "Elizabeth Christine is my queen, but not my wife!" and, as if he feared a further explanation, he nodded to the Marquis Algarotti and Duke Chazot to come forward and take part in the conversation.