He jumped up, and, throwing his arms around her neck, leaned his face close against hers, flashed his burning glance deep into her eyes, and in doing so smiled a blissful, childlike smile.
"Now read," he said, almost imperiously—"read and tell me what is in my eyes!"
She slowly shook her head. "There is nothing in them," she whispered. "But, indeed, how can I know? The Electoral Prince Frederick William is so very learned, and it is only my own fault that I can not read what is in his eyes. It is written in Latin, or perhaps in Greek!"
"No, you mischievous, you cruel one," cried he impatiently. "You just will not understand and read what is plainly and intelligibly written in my eyes. My heart speaks neither Latin nor Greek, but German, and the eyes are the lips with which the heart speaks."
"Well then, tell me, Cousin Frederick William, what is in your eyes?"
"I will tell you, Cousin Ludovicka Hollandine. They say: I love you! I love you! And nothing but I love you!"
"But whom? To whom are these three little words addressed?"
"To you, you heartless, you wicked one, to you are these words addressed. But not little words are they, as you say; they are great words, full of meaning: for a world, a whole human life, my whole future, lies in these three words—I love you."
He embraced her and pressed her close to his heart, and Ludovicka leaned her head upon his shoulder and looked up at him with moist and glowing eyes. He nodded smilingly to her, and then took her head between his two hands and gazed long and rapturously upon her beautiful face.
"So I have you at last, and hold you, my golden butterfly," he said gently. "You are mine at last, and I hold you fast by your transparent wings, so that you can not flutter away from me again to fly up to the sun, the flowers, the trees! O my butterfly! you pretty creature, made of ethereal dust and rainbow splendor, of air and sunshine, of lightning flashes and icy coldness, are you actually mine, then? May I trust you? Think not I am only a poor little flower on which you may smilingly rock yourself an hour in the sunshine, and enjoy the perfume which mounts up from its heart's blood, and the love songs which its sighs waft to you in the breeze! Tell me, you butterfly, will you no more flutter away, but be true and never more distress and torment me?"