He rushed toward her, cast himself upon his knees before her, kissing her dress and hands with passionate ardor. "Forgive me, Ludovicka, forgive me! I can not act differently. I can not be a traitor to my country, to my father, to Germany. I can not listen to my heart, with regard to my future, for my future belongs to my people, my native land, not to myself alone. Go home, beloved; be steadfast and courageous, as I shall be, and then we shall conquer destiny itself and win victory for our love." "Stand up, Electoral Prince of Brandenburg!" she cried imperiously, and with angry glance. "Now answer me, will you accept the help of France, and flee with me?" He turned away from her with a deep sigh. "No, I shall not accept the help of France." "Count d'Entragues," said the Princess, with shrill, quivering voice, "you are a gentleman; I place myself under your protection. You will immediately conduct me to Doornward." The count hastened to her and offered her his hand. She accepted it, and he led her slowly through the vast hall to one of the doors of entrance. The Electoral Prince looked after her with distorted features and burning eyes. Once he made a movement as if to rush after her, but by a mighty effort he kept his place. Arrived at the door, she paused and turned upon him an earnest, questioning glance; he cast down his eyes before it. Count d'Entragues opened the door--a breathless pause ensued--then the door closed behind her. The Electoral Prince placed his trembling hand upon his heart, and two tears rolled from his eyes. Violently he shook them away, and turned his head to the notary. "Sir," he said, in a firm voice--"sir, I beg you to show me the way out. I would go to my palace." VI.--THE HARDEST VICTORY. The Electoral Prince had returned home, but he did not sleep the whole night through. The chamberlain, whose room adjoined the Prince's sleeping apartment, had heard him restlessly pacing the floor all night long, at times talking to himself half aloud, and then even weeping and lamenting. In his anguish of heart he had wakened Baron Leuchtmar and the private secretary Müller, in order to impart to them the melancholy news. Both gentlemen had immediately risen and dressed themselves, and softly approached the door of the princely chamber. They, too, had heard the restless steps, the loud groans and lamentations of the Prince, and his grief had passed into their own hearts. As they looked at each other, each observed tears in the eyes of the other, and with quivering lips both whispered, "Poor young man! he must have some great grief! He suffers a great deal!" "You must go to him, Leuchtmar," whispered Müller. "You must ask what ails him, and try to comfort him." The baron mournfully shook his head. "My dear Müller," he said, "have you ever been in love?" "No, never!" replied Müller, in astonishment. "Why do you ask such a question?"