“It was an insurrection,” said the king—“an insurrection of the populace, that now fancies itself sovereign, and would so gladly play the master and ruler, and dictate terms to its king. I hate this rabble and all those who make it subservient to their ends—who use its rude fists to execute their own plans—and never will I pardon or take into favor such rebels and traitors.”
As the king concluded, he fastened an angry glance on Bischofswerder and Wöllner, the covert meaning of which these worthies seemed to have divined, for they cast their eyes down and looked abashed.
The king now turned to Wilhelmine, raised the lace shawl from her shoulder with a gentle hand, and pointed to the wound which she had received the day before.
“Look at this, gentlemen! Madame Rietz received this wound while interposing her own body to protect her king; the stone that inflicted this wound would, but for her devotion and heroism, have struck me in the face. My son, you see before you the protectress of your father; kiss her hand and thank her! And you, too, gentlemen, all of you, thank the heroic woman who shielded your king from danger.”
This was indeed a glorious satisfaction! Wilhelmine’s ambitious heart exulted with joy as she stood there like a queen, her hand extended to be kissed by a prince royal, by generals, ministers, and courtiers, whose words of thanks were unceasingly resounding in her ear. But there was one drop of bitterness in all this honey; and the warning voice again whispered, “Beware of the prince royal, for he is the avenging angel destined to punish you!”
The prince royal had given her a second threatening glance when he stooped to kiss her hand, at the king’s command; and she alone knew that his lips had not touched her hand.
The king had looked on with a smile while his ministers and courtiers were doing homage to his “protectress.” He now turned to the portrait of his favorite son, Count von der Mark. His boy’s soft, mild eyes seemed to gaze down on his father.
“My son,” said the king, in a loud, agitated voice, “I swear to your blessed spirit, surely in our midst in this hour, I swear that I will reward the mother you so tenderly loved, for all the affection which she lavished upon my boy, and that I will never forget her devotion in risking her own life to preserve mine. My son, I swear to you that I will be grateful to the preserver of my life while I live, and that her enemies shall never succeed in lowering her in my high estimation. My son, in witness of this my solemn vow, I kiss the wound which your noble mother received in my defence!”
Frederick William stooped and kissed the wound on Wilhelmine’s shoulder.
It was a grand, an impressive moment, and Wilhelmine’s ambitious heart exulted. Visions of a brilliant future arose before her soul, and, as she stooped to kiss the king’s hand, she vowed that these visions should be realized!