“Sire, I swear to you that you mistake this dear, noble-hearted young girl, you--” “Enough!” interrupted the king. “I have given my consent to General von Leuthen, and I cannot recall it. Moreover, the marriage of the daughter of my general with you would be a misalliance--ridiculous. In the republic of intellect and science, you may have a very high position, but in my earthly kingdom you hold too modest a one to presume to raise your eyes to a noble young lady. I regret that I can offer you no other consolation than to listen to reason, and be resigned. As we cannot bring down the moon to earth, we must content ourselves with a lamp to light up our small earthly abode. If this ever should fail you, then come to me and I will assist you. I cannot, to be sure, give you the moon, for that belongs as little to me as the bride of the rich Herr Ebenstreit von Leuthen. One cannot give away that which one does not possess. Farewell! return to Berlin, and resign yourself bravely to your fate. Accustom yourself to the thought that in fourteen days Fraulein von Leuthen will become the wife of your wealthy rival. The wedding ceremony awaits only the papers of nobility, for which my order has already been forwarded to Berlin. I moreover propose to you not to return to the college at once, but travel for two weeks. I will be responsible for your absence, and provide you with the necessary means. Now tell me whether you accept my proposal?” “Thanks to your majesty, I cannot,” answered Moritz, with calm dignity. “There is but one balm which my king could grant me. Money is not a plaster to soothe and heal a wounded heart. Sire, I beg you to dismiss me, for I will return at once to Berlin.” “I hope that you have not the foolish idea to return on foot,” said the king. “My courier will leave in an hour, and there are two places in the coupe, accept one of them.” “Sire,” said Moritz, gloomily, “I--” suddenly the words died on his lips, and his eyes beamed with an unnatural fire, which paled under the observing glance of the king. “I thank you,” said Moritz, gasping, “I will accept it.” The king nodded. “Au revoir, in Berlin! When I return after the campaign I will send for you. You will then have learned to forget your so-called misfortune, and smile at your pilgrimage!” “I cannot think so, sire.” “I am convinced of it. Farewell.” Moritz answered the royal salutation with a mute bow, and withdrew with drooping head and sorrowful heart. The king continued to regard him with an expression of deep sadness. “Ah!” he sighed, “how enviable are those who can still believe in love’s illusion, and who have not awakened from their dream of bliss by sad experience or age! How long since I have banished these dreams--how long I--”