"Breunner, you say this little goose-girl is my daughter?"
"I solemnly swear it, Highness. Look into her face again carefully."
The duke did so, a hand on either cheek. He scrutinized every contour,
the color of the eyes, the low, broad brow, the curve of the chin. Out
of the past he conjured up the mother's face. Yes, beyond any doubt,
there was a haunting likeness, and he had never noted it before.
"But who will prove it to the world?" he cried hopelessly, still
holding Gretchen's wondering face between his hands.
"I shall prove it," said the king.
"You? And how?"
"I shall marry Gretchen; I shall make her a queen. That will be proof
enough."
"A fine stroke, nephew; a bold stroke!" Prince Ludwig laid his hand upon
the king's shoulder with rare affection.
"If you accept her without further proof, I, her father, can do no
less." And the duke kissed Gretchen on the forehead and led her over to
the king, gravely joining their hands.
"Gretchen!" murmured the king.
"I do not know how to act like a princess."
"I shall teach you."
Gretchen laid her head on his breast. She was very tired and much
bewildered.
The duke paced the length of the cabinet several times. No one
interrupted his meditation.
Back and forth, one hand hanging to the opposite shoulder, the other
folding over his chin.
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