The queen had been informed of the king's return, and the calmness and self-command that she had regained seemed to vanish. As long as he remained at a distance, she felt herself secure in the lofty realm of thought; but now that he was near her, the thought of meeting him face to face made her tremble with fear. Her sense of injury loosened the weak foundations of the principles it had cost her such an effort to make her own. It was already night when the queen heard her husband's voice in the ante-chamber. He wished to see her, he said, even if she were asleep. He entered softly. She kept her eyes closed and forced herself to breathe as gently as possible. It was the first deceit of her life. She was only feigning sleep, and how often had he who now stood before her feigned sincerity and truth--? Her breathing became heavier; it required all her self-command to remain quiet. Horror at the idea of feigning death now possessed her.

She lay there motionless, with her hands folded, and her husband stood before her. She imagined that she felt his loving, affectionate glance, but what could his love or affection be? She felt his warm breath against her face. And now he felt her pulse, and yet she did not stir. She felt the kiss that he imprinted upon her hand, and yet she did not move. She heard him turn to Madame Leoni and say: "She sleeps quietly, thank God! don't tell her that I was here." She heard his words, and his soft footsteps while he left the room, and yet she did not move. Lest her attendant should discover the deception, she was obliged to keep up the appearance of being asleep and to affect entire ignorance of what had passed.

When the king reached the anteroom, he said to the waiting-woman:

"I thank you, dear Leoni!"

"Your Majesty," replied Madame Leoni, with a profound bow.

"You have of late afforded fresh proofs of your attachment to the queen. I shall not forget it. It is a comfort to me to know that she is surrounded by such careful attendants. My dear Leoni, do all you can to secure the queen as much repose as possible; and if she should wish for anything particular, which you think that the ladies of the court or Countess Brinkenstein need know nothing of, address yourself to me. Has the queen spoken much during the last few days?"

"Oh yes! unfortunately, too much; that's what makes her so exhausted. She talked for hours, incessantly."

"Was it with you that she talked so much?"

"Oh no!"

"Then it was with the doctor?"

"It was. But pardon me, Your Majesty, it seems to me that his medicines consist of words."

The king remembered that Madame Leoni owned a grudge to the queen, and a still greater one to Gunther, because the position of ayah to the crown prince had been given to Madame von Gerloff, instead of her. He was not disposed to take advantage of this, and only said:

"The physician, dear Leoni, should always be the confidant."

"Certainly, Your Majesty; but our noble queen is so despondent, and it seems to me it would be far better to cheer her up and make her laugh, instead of conversing about such difficult and terrible subjects. Your Majesty will surely not understand me, but I should like to help our noble queen, and her best, indeed her only helper, is Your Majesty. Whoever thrusts himself between you and her does more harm than good."

The king felt concerned. He had never indulged in espionage, and now that he felt himself purified and elevated, was doubly averse to it. Nevertheless, he asked:

"Pray, tell me what has happened!"

"Ah! Your Majesty; I'd rather die than wrong my royal mistress, but what I am doing can't harm her; it is only meant to aid her."

"Confide all to me," said the king, in a soft voice,--himself displeased at what he was saying,--"you could not so demean yourself as to be a spy on the words and actions of others, nor could I desire or permit you to do so; but it is necessary for me to know how the queen can be helped out of her present trouble, and, therefore, I ought to be informed of what is told her, and how matters are discussed here."

"Certainly, Your Majesty," replied Madame Leoni, and, having apologized for the ugly words, she informed him how the physician had spoken of the origin of the mud in the highways, how a pure drop from the heavenly clouds mingles with the dust of the road; and that they had gone on to talk of sculpture, of haut relief and bas relief.

Madame Leoni could only furnish a disconnected statement, but the king already knew enough.