"Well, let them say so, Laura is young and lovely, and does credit to your taste. Let the court say what it will, we will not make ourselves unhappy. But hasten, my son, hasten; it appears to me the king is even now approaching Laura."
The prince bowed to his mother, and with joy in his heart he placed himself by the side of his beloved.
The queen-mother, entirely at ease, took her seat at the card-table with her daughter-in-law and their cavaliers, while the king amused himself in the ball-room, and danced a tour with almost every lady. He did not dance with Leontine; not once did his eye meet hers, though her glances followed him everywhere with a tender, beseeching, melancholy expression.
"So sad!" whispered Madame von Brandt, who, glowing with beauty and merriment, having just danced with the king, now took a seat by her side.
Madame von Morien with a sigh held out her small hand. "Dear friend," said she, in a low voice, "you were right. I should not have come here; I thought myself stronger than I am; I thought my mourning would touch him, and awaken at least his pity."
"Pity!" laughed Madame von Brandt; "men never have pity for women: they worship or despise them; they place us on an altar or cast us in the dust to be trodden under foot. We must take care, dear Leontine, to build the altar on which they place us so high, that their arms cannot reach us to cast us down."
"You are right; I should have been more prudent, wiser, colder. But what would you? I loved him, and believed in his heart."
"You believed in the heart of a man! Alas! what woman can boast that she ever closed that abyss and always retained the keys?"
"Yes, the heart of man is an abyss," said Madame von Morien; "in the beginning it is covered with flowers, and we believe we are resting in Paradise; but the blossoms wither, and will no longer support us; we fall headlong into the abyss with wounded hearts, to suffer and to die."
Madame von Brandt laid her hand, glittering with jewels, upon the shoulder of her friend, and looked derisively into the poor pale face. "Dear Morien," said she, "we cannot justly cast all the blame upon the men, when the day comes in which they make themselves free from the bonds of love. The fault is often the woman's. We misuse our power, or do not properly use it. It is not enough to love and to be loved. With love we must also possess the policy of love. This policy is necessary. The women who do not know how to govern the hearts which love them will soon lose their power. So was it with you, my dear friend; in your love you were too much the woman, too little the politician and diplomatist; and instead of wisely making yourself adored, by your coldness and reserve you yielded too much to your feelings, and have fallen into that abyss in which, poor Leontine, you have for the moment lost your health and strength. But that must not remain the case; you shall rise from this abyss, proud, triumphant, and happy. I offer you my hand; I will sustain you: while you sigh I will think for you; while you weep I will see for you."