The short moment of expectation seemed an eternity of
anguish. She pressed her hands upon her heart, to still its stormy
beatings; she looked with staring, wide-opened eyes toward the door
through which Pollnitz must enter, and she shuddered as she looked
upon the ever-smiling, immovable face of the courtier, who now
entered her boudoir, with Mademoiselle von Marwitz at his side.
"Do you know, Pollnitz," said she, in a rough, imperious tone--"do
you know I believe your face is not flesh and blood, but hewn from
stone; or, at least, one day it was petrified? Perhaps the fatal
hour struck one day, just as you were laughing over some of your
villainies, and your smile was turned to stone as a judgment. I
shall know this look as long as I live; it is ever most clearly
marked upon your visage, when you have some misfortune to announce."
"Then this stony smile must have but little expression to-day, for I
do not come as a messenger of evil tidings; but if your royal
highness will allow me to say so, as a sort of postillon d'amour."
Amelia shrank back for a moment, gave one glance toward Mademoiselle
von Marwitz, whom she knew full well to be the watchful spy of her
mother, and whose daily duty it was to relate to the queen-mother
every thing which took place in the apartment of the princess.
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