“Then the beautiful Louise is now Mrs Major du Trouffle,” said the prince, with a troubled smile. “Were you present at the wedding?”
“Yes, in the name of the king.”
“Did she speak the decisive Yes, the vow of faith and obedience, with earnestness and confidence? Did she not blush, or droop her eyelids in doing so?”
“Oh, no; she smiled as if entranced, and raised her eyes to heaven, as if praying for God’s blessing upon her vows.”
“One thing more,” said the prince, fixing his large, gray eyes with a searching expression upon Pollnitz—“what is said of me? Am I regarded as a rejected lover, or as a faithless one; for doubtless all Berlin knows of my love for this lady, you having been our confidant.”
“Oh, my prince, that is a hard insinuation,” said Pollnitz, sadly.
“Your highness cannot really believe that—”
“No protestations, I pray you,” interrupted the prince, “I believe I know you thoroughly, but I am not angry with you nor do I reproach you: you are a courtier, and one of the best and rarest type; you have intellect and knowledge, much experience and savoir vivre; I could desire no better company than yourself; but for one moment cast aside your character as a courtier, and tell me the truth: what does the world say of this marriage in regard to me?”
“Your highness desires me to tell you the truth?”
“Yes, I do.”