the shadow of the noble trees in the fragrant woods of Rheinsberg.
No gayer, lovelier shepherds and shepherdesses were ever seen in
Arcadia, than those of Rheinsberg to-day. They laughed, and jested,
and performed little comedies, and rejoiced in the innocent sports
of the happy moment. Here wandered a shepherd and his shepherdess,
chatting merrily; there, under the shadow of a mighty oak, lay a
forlorn shepherd singing, accompanied by his zitter, a love-lorn
ditty to his cruel shepherdess, who was leading two white lambs
decked with ribbons, in a meadow near by, and replied to his tender
pleading with mocking irony. Upon the little lake, in the
neighborhood of which they had assembled, the snow-white swans swam
majestically to and fro. The lovely shepherdesses stood upon the
borders and enticed the swans around them, and laughed derisively at
the shepherds who had embarked in the little boats, and were now
driven sportively back in every direction, and could find no place
to land.

Prince Henry loved this sort of fete, and often gave such at
Rheinsberg, but never had he seemed to enjoy himself so thoroughly
as to-day. His guests generally sympathized in his happiness, but
there was one who looked upon his joyous face with bitterness. This
was Louise du Trouffle, once Louise von Kleist, once the beloved of
the prince.

She was married, and her handsome, amiable, and intelligent husband
was ever by her side; but the old wounds still burned, and her pride
bled at the contempt of the prince. She knew he was ignorant of the
great sacrifice she had been forced to make--that he despised, in
place of admiring and pitying her.