entrance. She had only eyes and ears for the queen, who was just
dismissing her with winning words, telling her to remain in the
castle and return when she desired to see her.

"I shall remain and await your majesty's commands," said Louise,
withdrawing hastily.

The queen now greeted the prince as if she had just observed him,
and invited him to be seated on the fauteuil near her couch. The
prince obeyed, but he was absent-minded and restless, and the more
the queen endeavored to engage him in harmless and unconstrained
conversation, the more monosyllabic and preoccupied he became. The
poor prince remembered only that his beloved was so near, that only
a door separated them, and prevented him from gazing on her beauty.

Yes, Louise was really in the next room, in the cabinet of the
queen, sorrowful and exhausted; she had fallen upon the little sofa
near the door, the smile had left her lips, and her brilliant,
bewitching eyes were filled with tears. Louise wept; she wept for
her last youthful dream, her last hope of happiness and virtue, for
her sad, shadowed future and wounded pride; for to-day she had to
resign forever the proud hopes, the brilliant future for which she
had striven with so much energy.

But it was vain to struggle against this hard necessity. The king
had given her his orders and was there to see them carried out. He
sat behind that portiere that led into the grand saloon; he had just
left Louise, and, before going, had said to her, in a stern,
commanding tone: