While Louise forced herself to appear gay, in order to meet her husband without embarrassment, and the prince walked hastily onward, the princess stood separated from her ladies, on the borders of the lake, with the Count Kalkreuth at her side. The count had been appointed her cavalier for the day, by the prince her husband; she seemed to give her undivided attention to the swans, who were floating before her, and stretching out their graceful necks to receive food from her hands. As she bowed down to feed the swans, she whispered lightly, “Listen, count, to what I have to say to you. If possible, laugh merrily, that my ladies may hear; let your countenance be gay, for I see the prince approaching. In ten minutes he will be with us; do you understand my low tones?”
“I understand you, princess; alas! I fear I understand without words; I have read my sentence in the eyes of your husband. The prince suspects me.”
“No,” said she, sadly bowing down and plucking a few violets, which she threw to the swans; “he has no suspicion, but he loves me.”
The count sprang back as if wounded. “He loves you!” he cried, in a loud, almost threatening tone. “For pity’s sake speak low,” said the princess. “Look, the ladies turn toward us, and are listening curiously, and you have frightened the swans from the shore. Laugh, I pray you; speak a few loud and jesting words, count, I implore you.”
“I cannot,” said the count. “Command me to throw myself into the lake and I will obey you joyfully, and in dying I will call your name and bless it; but do not ask me to smile when you tell me that the prince loves you.”
“Yes, he loves me; he confessed it to-day,” said the princess, shuddering. “Oh, it was a moment of inexpressible horror; a moment in which that became a sin which, until then, had been pure and innocent. So long as my husband did not love me, or ask my love, I was free to bestow it where I would and when I would; so soon as he loves me, and demands my love, I am a culprit if I refuse it.”
“And I false to my friend,” murmured Kalkreuth.
“We must instantly separate,” whispered she. “We must bury our love out of our sight, which until now has lived purely and modestly in our hearts, and this must be its funeral procession. You see I have already begun to deck the grave with flowers, and that tears are consecrating them.” She pointed with her jewelled hand to the bouquet of white camelias which adorned her bosom.
“It was cruel not to wear my flowers,” said the count. “Was it not enough to crush me?—must you also trample my poor flowers, consecrated with my kisses and my whispers, under your feet?”
“The red roses which you gave me,” said she, lightly, “I will keep as a remembrance of the beautiful and glorious dream which the rude reality of life has dissipated. These camelias are superb, but without fragrance, and colorless as my sad features. I must wear them, for my husband gave them to me, and in so doing I decorate the grave of my love. Farewell!—hereafter I will live for my duties; as I cannot accept your love, I will merit your highest respect. Farewell, and if from this time onward we are cold and strange, never forget that our souls belong to each other, and when I dare no longer think of the past, I will pray for you.”