“You never loved me,” whispered the count, with pallid, trembling lips, “or you could not give me up so rashly; you would not have the cruel courage to spurn me from you. You are weary of me, and since the prince loves you, you despise the poor humble heart which laid itself at your feet. Yes, yes, I cannot compete with this man, who is a prince and the brother of a king; who—”
“Who is my husband,” cried she, proudly, “and who, while he loves me, dares ask that I shall accept his love.”
“Ah, now you are angry with me,” stammered the count; “you—”
“Hush!” whispered she, “do you not see the prince? Do laugh! Bow down and give the swans these flowers!”
The count took the flowers, and as he gave them to the swans, he whispered:
“Give me at least a sign that you are not angry, and that you do not love the prince. Throw this hated bouquet, which has taken the place of mine, into the water; it is like a poisoned arrow in my heart.”
“Hush!” whispered the princess. She turned and gave the prince a friendly welcome.
Prince Henry was so happy in her presence, and so dazzled by her beauty, that he did not remark the melancholy of the count, and spoke with him gayly and jestingly, while the count mastered himself, and replied in the same spirit.
The princess bowed down to the swans, whom she enticed once more with caresses to the borders of the lake. Suddenly she uttered a loud cry, and called to the two gentlemen for help. The great white swan had torn the camelias from the bosom of the princess, and sailed off proudly upon the clear waters of the lake.