"Because I do not wish to live without honor," he exclaimed, with sudden vehemence. "Because our misfortunes are so terrible that we must escape from them into the grave. All is lost! Breslau will fall, and we shall be obliged to prostrate ourselves at the conqueror's feet! But I will not, cannot survive the disgrace of Prussia. 'Victory or death!' was the motto which I once exchanged with Schill. I swore to him to live and die with my country; I swore to the king, if Breslau fell, that I would die the death of a traitor. Breslau falls; therefore I die!"
"No, no," exclaimed Camilla, clinging firmly to him, "you shall not die—you must not die! You are mine; you belong to me, and I love you! Hitherto you have lived for your honor as a man—now live for your heart and its love! Listen to me, Frederick! How often have you implored me to accelerate the day of our wedding, and I always refused! Well, I beseech you to-day, give me your hand! Let us go together to my parents, and ask them to send for a priest, and let our marriage take place to-day. And then, dearest, when the gates of Breslau open to the enemy, we can find a refuge at your splendid estate. The horrible turmoil of war and the clashing of arms will not follow us thither. There, amidst the charms of peaceful nature, let us commence a new life; with hearts fondly united, we shall belong only to ourselves, and, forgetful of the outside world, devote ourselves to our friends—to art and literature. Oh, my beloved, is it not a blissful future that is inviting you and promising you undisturbed happiness?" She laid her arms, from which the white lace sleeves had fallen back, on his shoulders, and held her glowing face so close to his own that her breath fanned his cheek; her ruby lips almost touched his own, and her dark eyes were fixed on him with an expression of unutterable tenderness.
The count pushed her back almost rudely. "The happiness you are depicting to me is only given to the innocent, to the pure, and to those who have no desires," he said, gloomily; "it is the happiness of gentle doves, not of men. And I am a man! As a man of honor I have lived, and as such I will die. My life harmonizes no more with yours. Will you go with me, Camilla, into the land of eternal honor and liberty? Does not this world of treachery and cowardice fill you with disgust as it does myself? Does not your soul shrink with dismay at the infamy we behold everywhere at the present time? Oh, I know your heart is noble and pure, and despises the baseness which is now the master of the world. Let us, therefore, escape from it. Come, dearest, come! I have two pistols at my rooms. They are loaded, and will not fail us. A pressure of my finger—and we are free! Say one word, and I will bring them—say, my Camilla, that you will die with me!"
"I say that I will live with you!" she cried, in terror.
"Then you will not die with me?" he asked, harshly.
"No, Frederick, why should I die? I am so young, and love life; it has given me nothing but joy—it has given you to me—you, whom I love, for whom I will live, whom I will render happy! What do I care for the misfortunes of Prussia—what do I care whether Breslau surrenders to the enemy or not, while I am free to follow you—free to devote myself entirely to my love!"
"A woman's heart!—a woman's love!" said Pückler, with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders. "I wish I resembled you; we then might be like cooing doves in the myrtle-tree. But my heart is rather that of an eagle—longing for the sun; and as he has set on earth, I shall fly after him. Farewell, Camilla, farewell! Forget me not, and be happy!" He imprinted a hasty, glowing kiss on her lips, and then turned toward the door.
Camilla rushed after him, and, clinging to him with both her hands, exclaimed: "Frederick, what are you going to do?"
"I go to the land of liberty, and will do what honor commands," he said, disengaging himself from her grasp, and rushing from the room.
"Frederick! Frederick!" she cried, in the utmost terror, running to the door; she could not open it, for he had locked it outside. "I must follow and save him," she exclaimed, and gliding across the room, she opened a small secret door in the opposite wall; scarcely touching the floor, she passed through the parlor, without taking any notice of her parents, who were sitting on the divan, and asked her in surprise for the cause of her hurry and agitation. She did not see that they were following her; nor did she hear them call her. Onward, onward she went through the room to the corridor, into the hall, and up the staircase. She rushed to the upper floor, and rang the bell violently, when the footman of Count Pückler opened the door, and stared surprised at the young countess. She passed him impetuously, and ran down the corridor leading into the sitting-room of her betrothed. But it was locked. Uttering a cry of despair, she sank breathless on her knees, and laid her burning forehead against the door.