And presently he had gone on his knees and kissed her gown and her cloak and her hands.
The while they never spoke a word, and the Countess von Arlestein watched by the big door.
“You did not hear them come,” said the Princess, dropping her hand from her eyes.
“No,” answered the old woman. “The first I knew of them was when the door opened—”
They could both see that too, in their memory–the door opening on Prince Georg, whose pale eyes saw the Electress in the arms of Philip von Königsmarck while his lips rested on her brow.
A woman had betrayed them: a jealous woman enamoured of the young Count had brought the Elector back a day before he was due and sent him here to the kitchens, which the spy had discovered was the meeting-place.
Sophia Dorothea remembered how she had lifted her head from her lover’s shoulder to see her husband standing within the door, four officers behind him and a fifth holding Madame von Arlestein.
“I am glad I kissed him again,” she muttered.
“The firelight was full in the room–like this,” said the old woman. Her blurred eyes gleamed madly; she seemed inspired by her memories. She got to her feet, and the embroideries fell to the hearth. “He fought for you–with his silly little court sword–but he was one to four, all well armed—”
“The Elector held my wrists,” said the Princess, “and I had never known he was so strong.… I struggled; Mein Gott, how fiercely! but I could not shake his hands.”