“The wound has healed,” said Louise du Trouffle to herself. “He no longer scorns because he no longer loves me.” But she did not know that he had not only ceased to love her, but loved another passionately. This suspicion was excited, however, for the first time to-day. In the flashing eye, the glad smile, the proud glance which he fixed upon his fair young wife, Louise discovered that Henry had buried the old love and a new one had risen from its ashes. This knowledge tortured her heart in a wild storm of jealousy. She forgot all considerations of prudence, all fear, even of the king. She had been compelled to relinquish the hand of the prince, but she would not lose him wholly. Perhaps he would return to her when he knew what a fearful offering she had made to him. He would recognize her innocence, and mourn over the tortures he had inflicted during the last year. She would try this! She would play her last trump, and dare all with the hope of winning.
There stood the prince under the shadow of a large tree, gazing dreamily at his wife, who, with other shepherdesses, and her shepherd, Count Kalkreuth, was feeding the swans on the border of the lake. The prince was alone, and Louise rashly resolved to approach him. He greeted her with a slight nod, and turning his eyes again upon his wife, he said, carelessly, “Are you also here, Madame du Trouffle?”
“Your royal highness did me the honor to invite me—I am accustomed to obey your wishes, and I am here.”
“That is kind,” said the prince, abstractedly, still glancing at the princess.
Louise sighed deeply, and stepping nearer, she said, “Are you still angry with me, my prince? Have you never forgiven me?”
“What?” said the prince, quietly; “I do not remember that I have any thing to forgive.”
“Ah, I see! you despise me still,” said Louise, excitedly; “but I will bear this no longer! I will no longer creep about like a culprit, burdened with your curse and your scorn. You shall at least know what it cost me to earn your contempt—what a tearful sacrifice I was compelled to make to secure your supposed personal happiness. I gave up for you the happiness of my life, but I can and will no longer fill a place of shame in your memory. If, from time to time, your highness thinks of me, you shall do me justice!”
“I think no longer of you in anger,” said the prince, smiling. “That sorrow has long since passed away.”
“From your heart, prince, but not from mine! My heart bleeds, and will bleed eternally! You must not only forgive—you must do me justice. Listen, then: and so truly as there is a God above us, I will speak the truth. I did not betray you—I was not faithless. My heart and my soul I laid gladly at your feet, and thanked God for the fulness of my happiness. My thoughts, my existence, my future, was chained to you. I had no other will, no other wish, no other hope. I was your slave—I wanted nothing but your love.”
“Ah, and then came this Monsieur du Trouffle, and broke your fetters—gave your heart liberty and wings for a new flight,” said Prince Henry.