“My Frederick is always young,” whispered she; “eternal youth glows in your heart and is reflected on your noble brow. But I—look at me, Frederick William! I have grown old, and the unmerciful hand of Time has been laid ungently on my brow.”
The king looked at Wilhelmine, and could find no evidence of this in the fresh, smiling countenance of his enchantress. He listened to her siren voice, and its music soothed his soul and dissipated all care and sorrow. As the hand of the clock neared the tenth hour, and while Wilhelmine was engaged in a charming tête-à-tête with the king over a delightful supper of savory dishes and choice wines, the smiling siren told him of the danger that threatened her, of the new intrigue of her enemies at court, and of their determination to incite a mob to attack her palace.
“There can be nothing in all this,” said the king, smiling; “this story has only been concocted to alarm you. If your enemies had formed any such plan, my superintendent of police would certainly have heard of it, and have taken measures to prevent it.”
Wilhelmine inclined her rosy lips to the king’s ear, and narrated in low accents what Rietz had told her concerning the order issued by the Rosicrucians.
The king started with surprise and alarm. “No,” said he, “this is impossible; Bischofswerder and Wöllner are my most faithful friends; they will never undertake to harm you, for they know that you are dear to me, and that your presence is necessary to my peace and contentment—yes, I may even say to my happiness!”
“It is for this very reason that they desire to effect my banishment. They hope to gain unbounded control over you, by driving from your side the only being who dares to tell you the truth, and who loves in you the dear, noble man, and not the king! My disinterested love for you, Frederick William, is in their eyes a crime, and they accuse me of having committed another crime, for the purpose of tearing me from your heart and treading me under foot like a noxious weed!”
“They shall not succeed!” protested Frederick William. “But I cannot believe that—” The king ceased speaking; at this moment a deafening roar, as of the sea when lashed to fury by the storm, was heard in the street; it came nearer and nearer, and then the windows of the palace shook with the fierce cries: “Murderess! Poisoner! Curses upon the murderess!”
Wilhelmine, an air of perfect serenity on her countenance, remained seated at the king’s feet, but he turned pale and looked toward the window in dismay. “You perceive, my master,” said she, with an air of perfect indifference, “you perceive that these are the exact words agreed upon in the Rosicrucian assembly this morning. This is the war-cry of my enemies.”
“Murderess! Poisoner!” resounded again upon the night air. “Curses upon the murderess!”