"Wilhelmine," said he, uttering each word with difficulty, "Wilhelmine, it is not possible. You cannot leave me. If you go, my youth, my happiness, my good star go with you! Have pity on me! See how I suffer! Be great, be good, be merciful! Stay with me!" "Thou hearest him, O God," cried Wilhelmine, raising her arms toward heaven. "Thou hearest him, and Thou seest what I suffer! I have loved him from my youth. I have been true to him in every thought, with every breath of life. I have borne for his sake shame and disgrace, and the contempt of the world. I have bestowed upon him all the treasures of my soul and heart; and yet my sacrifices have not been great enough, I have not yet been sufficiently humiliated. He demands of the mother of his children a still greater sacrifice: that I renounce his love, and stand by and see him give to another the love he swore should be mine! O Thou Great, Thou Almighty God, have pity on me! Send down a flash of lightning to kill and save me! I cannot live without him, and I may not live with him." "Wilhelmine," said the king, in a hollow voice, "you will not make this sacrifice? You will not remain with me as my best and dearest friend--the friend to whom I will give my whole confidence, who shall share my thoughts as my sister soul, and from whom I will conceal no secrets?" She slowly shook her head. What did Cleopatra determine to do, rather than grace the triumph of her faithless lover and her hated rival, and pass under the yoke? She determined to die; she let loose the serpent which had been gnawing at her heart, that it might take her life. "I prefer to die like Cleopatra, rather than live like the Marquise de Pompadour." "Well, then," said Frederick William, his voice trembling with emotion, and looking tenderly at Wilhelmine, "I will prove to you that the friendship I entertain for you is stronger than the love I have given to another. I sacrifice to you, the beloved of my youth and the friend of my soul, all the wishes and hopes of my heart. I will renounce my love for the maid of honor, Julie von Voss, and will see her no more. She shall leave the court, and I will never seek to recall her. Are you now contented, Wilhelmine? Will you remain with me, and not deprive me of my dear son, who was about to leave me on your account? Wilhelmine, will you try to forget, and--" The king's voice faltered, and tears rushed to his eyes, but with an effort he steadied his voice and continued: "and will you sincerely endeavor to compensate me for what I sacrifice?" With a cry of joy, Wilhelmine threw her arms around the king's neck, and pressed a long and fervent kiss on his quivering lips.