"Ah! my king," said Jordan, deeply touched, "from to-day your people will no longer call you their king, but their father."
The king stepped quickly to the door which Pollnitz had pointed out; the two gentlemen followed, and remained standing behind him, glancing curiously over his shoulder.
The king crossed the threshold, and then stood motionless, gazing into the room. "Is it possible to live in such a den?" he murmured.
"Yes, it is possible," replied a low, scornful voice; "I live here, with misery for my companion."
The king was startled by this voice, and turned toward that side of the room from which it proceeded; only then seeing the woman who sat in the farthest corner. She remained motionless, her hands folded on her lap; her face was deadly pail, but of a singularly beautiful oval; the hair encircling her head in heavy braids, was of a light, shining blond, and had almost the appearance of a halo surrounding her clear, pale face, which seemed illumined by her wonderful eyes.
"She has not made use of the things which I sent," thought Pollnitz; "but I see she understands her own advantages. She is really beautiful; she looks like a marble statue of the Virgin Mary in some poor village church."
The king still stood gazing, with an earnest and thoughtful expression, at this woman, who looked fixedly at him, as if she sought to read his thoughts. But he remained quiet, and apparently unmoved. Did the king recognize this woman? did he hear again the dying melodies of his early youth? was he listening to their sweet, but melancholy tones? Neither Pollnitz nor Dorris Ritter could discover this in his cold, proud face.
Jordan broke this silence by saying gently, "Stand up, my good woman, it is the king who is before you."
She rose slowly from her seat, but her countenance did not betray the least astonishment or pleasure.
"The king!" she said; "what does the king desire in this den of poverty and misery?"