“No,” she cried in dismay, as she threw her arms around him; “no, I cannot live without you, I will not go into exile with my poor, dear children!”
“With your children!” repeated the king. “Who thinks of sending these children into exile?”
“Do you not consider it possible that you will send me into exile? And where I am, there my children will also be, of course!”
“Where you are, Wilhelmine, there your daughter will be; that is lawful and natural. But the son belongs to the father; and, whatever may divide and separate us, my son Alexander shall not leave me; my bright, handsome boy, remains with his father.”
It had grown dark, and he could not see the light of the bold resolution Wilhelmine had formed, sparkling in her eyes.
She laid her hand on Frederick William’s shoulder. “We are standing on the threshold of a new era,” said she, “my son shall now decide between you and me. I lay my fate in his hands, and will accept it as if it came from God. We will have him called, and he shall choose between his father and his mother. If he decides to leave me and remain with you, I will bow my head in humility, and will remain, and content myself with your friendship. I will stand in darkness, and view from afar my happy rival sunning herself in your love. But if my son should decide to go with his mother, then, like Hagar, I will wander forth into the desert. But I will not complain, and will not feel unhappy; I will have at my side, my son, the image of his father; the son in whom I love the father!”
“So let it be,” cried the king. “Our son shall decide. Go, and bring him in.”
“No, I will only see him in your presence; you might otherwise suppose I had influenced his decision. Permit me to have him called.”
She rang the bell, and ordered the servant to bring lights, and request his young master to come at once to his majesty’s presence.
“We will soon learn the decision of fate,” said Wilhelmine, when the servant had closed the door. “For fate will speak to me through the mouth of my son!”