"And so I must suffer this deadly shame; must see another play the part which belongs to me; another made glad by the proud triumphs which are mine and should remain mine. I will not suffer this! I swear it! So true as my name is Barbarina I will have no rival near me! I will not be condemned to this daily renewed struggle after the first rank as an artiste. I will not bear the possibility of a comparison between myself and any other woman. I am and I will remain the first; yes, I will!" She raised herself up defiantly, and her burning glance fell upon the face of the king, but he met it firmly, and if the bearing of Barbarina was proud and commanding, that of King Frederick was more imposing. "How!" said he, in a tone so harsh and threatening that Barbarina, in spite of her scorn and passion, felt her heart tremble with fear. "How! Is there another in Prussia who dares say, 'I will?' Is it possible that a voice is raised in contradiction to the expressed will of the king?" Barbarina turned pale and trembled. The countenance of Frederick expressed what she had never seen before. It was harsh and cold, and a cutting irony spoke in his glance and a contemptuous smile played upon his lip. "Mercy, mercy!" cried she, pleadingly; "have pity with my passion. Forget this inconsiderate word which scorn and despair drew from me. Oh! sire, do not look upon me so coldly, unless you wish that I should sink down and die at your feet; crush me not in your anger, but pardon and forget." With her lovely face bathed in tears and her arms stretched out imploringly; she drew near the king, but he stood up erect and stepped backward. "Signora Barbarina, I have nothing to forgive, but I cannot grant your request. The Cochois keeps her role, and if you have any complaint to make, apply to your chief, Baron Swartz; and now, signora, farewell; the audience is ended." He bowed his head lightly and turned away; but Barbarina uttered one wild cry, sprang after him, and with mad frenzy she clung to his arm. "Sire, sire! do not go," she said, breathlessly; "do not forsake me in your rage. My God, do you not see that I suffer; that I shall be a maniac if you desert me!" and, gliding to his feet, she clasped his knees with her beautiful arms, and looked up at him imploringly. "Oh, my king and my lord, let me be as a slave at your feet; do not spurn me from you!"