“No!” cried the count, “he did not speak the truth!  Oh, forgive me, Princess, forgive me this slander, which my lips uttered, uttered in the delirium of pain, love, and despair!  I lied, Princess, you never wrote to me, never!  I said that in order to force your brother to give me your hand, because I love you, Princess, you know not how dearly!  Ah! you little imagine with what fervor of devotion my soul clung to you, and what you did that time when you mocked and betrayed me, treating me like a despised beggar!  That hour wrought a change in my whole nature!  The most sacred blossoms of my love had been crushed by you, and I trampled them under foot and strove to bury my despair in mirth and pleasure.  I did not succeed.  The sacred old song of the buried love was forever making itself heard in low, sweet strains.  I would not listen, I tried to drown it.  I became a conspirator, a rebel, for I longed to take vengeance upon you and your house.  Fate was against me; my revenge constituting my punishment.  I must flee, I must leave as a fugitive the land in which you live.  The Emperor received me graciously, giving me rank and titles, and bestowing upon me marks of favor and regard, thus opening to the ambitious heart a career of fame, dignity, and honor.  All was in vain, though.  I felt too late that love, not ambition, had urged me into the dangerous paths of insurrection and revolt.  I could not forget you.  Like a radiant star, you ever shone upon the midnight darkness of my soul.  I must see you again, to obtain from your own lips my sentence of pardon or condemnation.  I despised all danger, even the order of arrest issued against me, and obtained the Emperor’s leave to accompany his ambassador here.  I came and suffered the severest mortification that a man can suffer.  I subjected myself to your brother’s scorn and contempt.  Then at last my heart rebelled, and when he scornfully refused your hand to me, I claimed it as my right, by virtue of the love you once vowed to me.  The Elector disputed your love for me, and then, in the rage of my heart, I boasted of a favor which I never received, boasted of having received from you a letter, and an invitation to a rendezvous.  Oh, forgive the madman who kneels here at your feet and suffers the agony of death.  He has no right to claim anything, he only implores from you an act of grace!”

While the count thus spoke in passionate excitement, the Elector had slowly retired, and, standing apart with folded arms, gazed upon the couple with melancholy eyes.  In the beginning the Princess had sunk upon a chair, with bowed head and hanging arms, pale as a drooping lily.  But the glowing words which fell upon her ear seemed to find an echo, a painful echo, in her heart.  Slowly she raised her head, and breathlessly listened to his words, while the color once more mounted to her cheek.  When the count stopped, she slowly rose and proudly and indignantly drew herself erect.