"You speak presumptuously, and remind me of the theatre princesses
who represent a grand scene with a pathetic exit. Let me inform you,
I despise comedians--only high tragedy pleases me. Spare yourself
the trouble to act before me, but answer me--who are you? Whose
child is that?"

"Sire, only God and my king should hear my reply--I beg the favor to
send away the nurse and child." The king assented, slightly nodding
his head, at the same time bidding her not to kneel to him as to an
image.

The lady rose and sought the nurse, who, from fright, had withdrawn
into the shrubbery, and stood staring at the king with wide-open
eyes. "Go home, Louisa, and put the child to sleep," said she,
quickly.

The nurse obeyed promptly, and when alone, the king demanded again,
"Who are you? and to whom does the child belong?"

"Your majesty, I am the daughter of your chapel musician Enke, and
the child is the son of Prince Frederick William of Prussia," she
replied, in a firm and defiant manner.

The king's eyes flashed as he glanced at the bold speaker. "You say
so, but who vouches for the truth of it? You permit yourself to use
a high name, to give your child an honorable father! What temerity!
what presumption! What if I should not believe you, but send you to
the house of correction, at Spandau, as a slanderer, as guilty of
high-treason, as a sinner and an adulteress?"