“Your majesty forgets that the king has a glorious successor,” remarked Rietz, with cynical indifference.
A dark frown gathered on the brow of the maid of honor, Julie von Voss, when the chamberlain uttered these impertinent words; and she glanced haughtily at his broad, self-complacent countenance.
“Leave the room,” said she, waving her hand imperiously toward the door; “wait in the antechamber till you are called to receive her majesty’s reply and commands.”
The chamberlain’s countenance flushed with anger, but he quickly suppressed all outward manifestation of feeling, and assumed an humble and respectful manner.
“Your grace commands,” said he, “and I am her zealous and obedient servant, ever ready to do her bidding. And herein I know that I am only fulfilling the desire of my royal master, who—”
“Leave the room at once!” cried the maid of honor, her cheeks flushing with anger.
“No,” said the queen, awakening from her sad reverie; “no, let good Rietz remain, dear Julie. He must tell me of the great dead. I must know how he died, and how his last hours passed.—Speak, Rietz, tell me.”
The chamberlain described the king’s last hours in so ready and adroit a manner, managing to introduce the person of the new king so cleverly into his narrative, and accompanying his remarks with such intelligent and significant looks at the maid of honor, that she blushingly avoided his glances, and pressed her lips firmly together, as if to suppress the angry and resentful words her rosy lips longed to utter.
“I left his majesty King Frederick William in the death-chamber,” said Rietz, as he finished his narrative. “But, even in the depth of his grief for his royal uncle, he thought of the living whom he loves so dearly, and commanded me to hasten to Schönhausen, to announce that he intended to gratify the longings of his heart by coming here, and that—”
“Will not your majesty dismiss the messenger?” interrupted the maid of honor in an angry voice.