But it was vain to struggle against this hard necessity. The king had given her his orders and was there to see them carried out. He sat behind that portiere that led into the grand saloon; he had just left Louise, and, before going, had said to her, in a stern, commanding tone:
“You will fulfil my commands accurately. You know that Fritz Wendel still lives, and that I shall be inexorable if you do not act as you have promised.”
Louise submitted respectfully to the king’s commands; she accepted her fate, but she wept bitterly, and when she felt that the king’s eyes were no longer upon her, her tears flowed unceasingly. Perhaps Frederick still saw her, or suspected her weakness, for the portiere opened slightly, and his noble, but stern countenance appeared.
“Madame,” he said, “if the prince sees you with tearful eyes, he will not believe in your happiness.”
Louise smiled painfully. “Ah! sire, he will believe I am weeping for joy. I have often heard of joyful tears.”
The king did not reply; he felt for her agony, and closed the partiere.
“I will cry no more,” she said; “I have accepted my destiny, and will fulfil it bravely for the sake of my daughter. It concerns Camilla’s happiness more than my own. I will deserve the respect of my unfortunate child.”
In saying this, a smile like a sunbeam illuminated her countenance. But now she started up, and laid her hand in terror upon her heart. She heard steps approaching. The door moved, and in a moment the king appeared and motioned to her.
“Courage, courage!” murmured Louise, and with instinctive fear she flew away from the door and placed herself in the niche of the last window.
To reach her, the prince must cross the saloon; that would give her a few moments to recover. The door opened and Prince Henry entered; his glance flew quickly over the saloon, and found the one he sought.