Three days had slowly passed by, and Fritz Wendel waited in vain for a sign or message from his beloved. He groped his way every day through the subterranean alley to the grotto, and stood every night under her window, hoping in vain for a signal or soft whisper from her.
The windows were always curtained and motionless, and no one could give the unhappy gardener any news of the poor Louise von Schwerin, who was closely confined in her room, and confided to the special guard of a faithful chambermaid.
The queen told her ladies that Louise was suffering from an infectious disease; the queen's physician confirmed this opinion, and cautioned the ladies of the court against any communication with the poor invalid. No special command was therefore necessary to keep the maids of honor away from the prisoner; she was utterly neglected, and her old companions passed her door with flying steps. But the queen, as it appeared, did not fear this contagion; she was seen to enter the sick girl's room every day, and to remain a long time. The tender sympathy of the queen excited the admiration of the whole court, and no one guessed what torturing anxiety oppressed the heart of the poor prisoner whenever the queen entered the room; no one heard the stern, hard, threatening words of Sophia; no one supposed that she came, not to nurse the sick girl, but to overwhelm her with reproaches.
Louise withstood all the menaces and upbraidings of the queen bravely; she had the courage to appear unembarrassed, and, except to reiterate her innocence, to remain perfectly silent. She knew well that she could not betray Laura without compromising herself; she knew that if the queen discovered the mysterious flight of Laura, she would, at the same time, be informed of her love affair with the poor gardener, and of their secret assignations. Louise feared that she would be made laughable and ridiculous by this exposure, and this fear made her resolute and decided, and enabled her to bear her weary imprisonment patiently. "I cannot be held a prisoner for ever," she said to herself. "If I confess nothing, the queen must at last be convinced of my innocence, and set me at liberty."
But Fritz Wendel was less patient than his cunning Louise. He could no longer support this torture; and as the fourth day brought no intelligence, and no trace of Louise, he was determined to dare the worst, and, like Alexander, to cut the gordian knot which he could not untie. With bold decision he entered the castle and demanded to speak with the king, stating that he had important discoveries to make known.
The king received him instantly, and at Fritz Wendel's request dismissed his adjutants.
"Now we are without witnesses, speak," said the king.
"I know a secret, your majesty, which concerns the honour and the future of the royal family; and you will graciously pardon me when I say I will not sell this secret except for a great price."
The king's eyes rested upon the impudent face of Fritz Wendel with a dangerous expression. "Name your price," said he, "but think well. If your secret is not worth the price you demand, you may perhaps pay for it with your head, certainly with your liberty."
"My secret is of the greatest value, for it will save the dynasty of the Hohenzollerns," said Fritz Wendel, boldly; "but I will sell it to your majesty—I will disclose it only after you have graciously promised me my price."