When the lord steward entered, the king had recovered his self-command and had settled upon the course he should pursue.

"Have you heard the terrible news?"

"I have, Your Majesty. The countess's maid has arrived; her mistress was drowned in the lake."

"And--?" asked the king, when he found the lord steward paused.

"And it is also said that, after her father's death, the countess neither saw nor spoke to any one. But she, nevertheless, wrote a few words to the queen, with the request that Doctor Gunther should deliver them."

"And was it done without previously informing me?"

The lord steward shrugged his shoulders.

"Very well; I know--" continued the king. "Is everything in readiness for the hunt?"

"At Your Majesty's pleasure. The hunting party has been waiting for an hour."

"I'm coming," said the king. "Send Doctor Sixtus to the lake and tell him to take Baum with him, for he knows all about the affair. Let him also take the notary with him, and tell him to see that the body, if found, be suitably interred. I know that you will have everything properly attended to; act on your own good judgment in the matter."

The king laid especial stress on the last words. Everything was to be managed discreetly; every appearance of undue interest, on his part, was to be avoided.

The king knit his brows, as if trying to think of something he had forgotten. "One thing more," added he, hastily. "Go to the poor countess's brother, and break the news to him as gently as you can. Should he desire leave of absence, you may inform him that it is granted for an indefinite time."

The king passed out through the anteroom and down the staircase. Rest and quiet had been prescribed for the queen, and, in order to avoid arousing her early in the morning, he had bade adieu to her the night before.

The hunting party assembled in the palace yard greeted the king, who graciously returned their salutation. In an instant, and as if by word of command, the covers were removed from the carriage-horses.

"Colonel Bronnen," exclaimed the king, "come sit with me."

Bronnen bowed in respectful acknowledgment of the compliment, and stepped up to the king's carriage. The gentlemen of the party, amazed at the honor paid the colonel, got into their carriages. Bronnen had bowed respectfully--for the highest honor of the day had been conferred upon him--but there was a struggle within his heart. Had the king the faintest idea that Bronnen felt himself the avenger of old Eberhard, or that he was wrestling with himself as to whether or not he should take up the vendetta? He started when he involuntarily touched the hanger at his side. Was the royal carriage to be the scene of a tragedy, such as history had never yet known? Had Irma vauntingly told the king that he was a rejected suitor for her hand? and was he now to receive the alms of sympathy?

The party drove on into the open country. The king was silent for a long time. At last, he said:

"You were also a true friend of hers. There were few--indeed, there was no one--who she honored and esteemed as she did you. Her constant wish was that we should be more closely united."

Bronnen drew a long breath. There was no occasion for his saying anything. The king offered him his cigar case.

"Ah, you don't smoke," he said.

There was another long pause, which was at last broken by the king's asking:

"How long had you known Countess Irma?"

"From childhood. She was the friend of my cousin Emma, with whom she was at the convent."

"It comforts me to be able to speak to you of our friend. You understood her character. It was great, almost supernaturally so. Suffer me to inherit your friendship for her."

"Your Majesty--" replied Bronnen with constrained composure; for his heart was boiling with indignation at the man who had corrupted this noble creature and had driven her to self-destruction. But his military feeling of respect for his superiors held him in check.

"Ah, dearest Bronnen!" continued the king, "no death has ever affected me so. Did she ever speak to you of death? She hated it. And yet, when I look about me, all is life. When a great heart ceases to beat, the whole world should pause, though it were but for a moment. What are we, after all?"

"Each of us is but a small, limited portion of the world. Everything about us has its due sphere of development and right. We are masters only of ourselves, and how few of us can claim to be even that!"

The king looked at Bronnen in surprise. Every one has a sphere of right--What could he have meant by it? Hastily collecting himself, the king replied: "She might have used the very same words. I can easily imagine how much you sympathized with each other. If I understand rightly, you regard suicide as the greatest of crimes?"

"If that which is most unnatural is, therefore, the greatest crime, I certainly do. 'Self-preservation is the first law of nature.' I shall never forget a conversation I had with old Count Eberhard, last winter, upon this very subject."

"Ah yes, you knew him. Was he really a great man?"

"He was a man of one idea, of grand one-sidedness. But perhaps this is a necessary condition of greatness."

"When did you speak with Countess Irma for the last time?"

"After her father's death, when she had shut herself up in impenetrable darkness. I spoke to her, but could not see her, although she extended her hand to me. I believe that I am the last man who held her hand in his."

"Then let me take your hand in mine!" exclaimed the king.

He held Bronnen's hand in his for a long time, until the latter said:

"Your Majesty, confession for confession.--I loved Irma!"

He spoke in a curt and bitter tone. The king hastily withdrew his hand.

"I see," continued Bronnen, gathering all his strength, "that the countess has mentioned nothing of my suit. I thank her, even now, for this proof of her noble, generous heart. Since she could not honestly return my love, she frankly declined it."

"You? my dear Bronnen!" exclaimed the king, in a tone that betrayed his painful agitation. He could not help thinking of the happy life which, as the wife of this man, Irma might have led. "My poor friend!" he added, in a voice full of feeling.

"Yes, Your Majesty, I have a right to mourn with you, and it seems as if her powerful, all-embracing mind were still potent, and had caused Your Majesty to call me to your side."

"I never dreamt of such a thing. If I had, I would not have inflicted this pain upon you."

"And I thank Your Majesty for permitting me to share in your grief. Because I share it with you, I am able to comfort you; that is, as far as another can. Since Your Majesty is so frank with me, I must needs be as frank in return."

The king was silent for a long time. Although Bronnen had opened his heart to him, the immediate effect upon him was to rouse a deep feeling of jealousy. He could not brook the thought that another had dared to cast his eye upon Irma; aye, actually to woo her. She seemed no longer entirely his own, since another had stretched out his hand toward her.

Bronnen waited for the king's answer. He could not understand what his silence meant. Had the king repented of his frankness? Did it offend him to find that another had placed himself on a level with him and answered him frankly and fearlessly? The consciousness of royalty trenches upon that of manhood, and perhaps it never happens that a prince thinks of himself simply as a human being. Bronnen felt vexed at the king's silence and averted looks. He could stand it no longer and, at last, feeling that, at such a moment etiquette could be disregarded, he said:

"I think that few men are great-minded enough to keep all knowledge of their conquests to themselves."

This remark had a double meaning, and Bronnen would not have been surprised if the king had turned upon him with a crushing reply. He felt defiant and yet composed. The man to whom he had revealed his soul's secret, must not act as if nothing had happened; he must answer for himself.

The king still remained silent.

"Is Your Majesty not of my opinion?" asked Bronnen, trembling with emotion.

The king turned toward him.

"You are my friend. I thank you, and when we reach Wolfswinkel, you shall receive the highest proof of my confidence."

"There is something more which I think I ought to communicate to Your Majesty."

"Proceed."

"I think I can see the connection between certain recent events. During the late election for deputies, some friends of mine in the Highlands thought of me. They knew of my sincere devotion to my constitutional king."

The king's features betrayed the faintest expression of disgust, while Bronnen continued calmly:

"I informed the voters that I would never accept an election which would range me with the opposition. Count Eberhard was, therefore, proposed on the very last day, and, to the great surprise of all, accepted the nomination. In order to cast a stigma upon the father, the friends of the present ministry--I am now giving Your Majesty facts, not mere opinions--were not above introducing the relation between Countess Irma and yourself into the canvass."

The king threw his cigar away, and quickly said:

"Go on; tell me more!"

"Count Eberhard was elected in spite of them. While I was at Wildenort, to attend the funeral, I was informed that the first intimation he had received of his daughter's position was conveyed to him at the meeting of electors. On his way home, he received letters which affected him deeply. Nay more, for I have inquired into the matter. I found this piece of a torn letter on the road, and the laborer who worked there told me that the count had torn up letters at the time mentioned."

Bronnen handed him a paper on which stood the words: "Your daughter has fallen into disgrace, and yet stands in high grace as the king's mistress."

"That may have been written by our saintly Hippocrates," muttered the king to himself.

"I beg Your Majesty's pardon, but if you harbor the slightest suspicion against Doctor Gunther, you do him injustice. I will stake my honor for him, and time will show that I am right."

"Go on!" said the king impatiently. He felt displeased that Bronnen could read his very thoughts, as it were, and understand what he had only half muttered; and that, understanding it, he had not, as in duty bound, ignored it. He was only to hear what was directly addressed to him.

"On his return from the meeting," continued Bronnen, calmly, "Count Eberhard was attacked by a paralytic stroke which deprived him of the power of speech. During his last moments. Countess Irma was the only one with him. She was heard to utter a terrible cry--when they entered the room, she lay on the floor, and Count Eberhard was dead. Who knows what may have happened there! But whatever it may have been, I feel sure it was the cause that drove her to this terrible resolve."

"And what purpose does this ingenious combination serve?" asked the king.

Bronnen looked at him with astonishment.

"Its only purpose is to aid in clearing up the mystery."

The long pause which followed Bronnen's remark added to its impressiveness.

"Yes," said the king, resuming the conversation, "how much better it is to clear up all things! That was just her own way of doing; so natural, and yet so clear, so conscious, and yet so strong. Well be it so. Bronnen, why should I conceal it? I may tell you everything. I loved the countess. And now--I must say it, for the thought tortures me--I am almost angry at her. Her suicide has imposed a heavy life-burden upon me. I shall never, to the end of my days, be able to lay it aside. She must have known how it would weigh me down. Tell me, frankly--I beg of you, tell me--is this feeling not a justifiable one?"

"I am not addressing the king, now. I am speaking to the clear-headed, warm-hearted man."

Bronnen paused. It shocked the king to find himself thus divested of his inborn dignity. What would this stern man, whom he had ordered to forget his rank, say?

"Speak on!" said the king, encouragingly.

"Then I shall speak frankly," began Bronnen, "as between man and man. When you reproach yourself for feeling that your friend has aggrieved you in imposing this life-burden upon you, it is simply a proof that your true self has been deeply affected. What really torments you, however, is the ghost of your own act. Although our friend, who deserved so well of fate may, in a fine frenzy, have willingly sacrificed herself, the stern truth still confronts you: you invaded, nay destroyed, her sphere of right, and now you reap the inevitable consequence of what was then begun. The ghost of your own actions disturbs you and will continue to do so, until you perceive the truth. Every human being has its own rights, presenting a barrier which no one, however exalted his position, dare invade. When you fully realize this in yourself, and by your knowledge of sin have overcome sin, then, and not until then, will you be free--no matter what may have gone before. Superstition uses the formula: 'All good spirits praise the Lord,' with which to exorcise phantoms. Our good spirit is that inner perception of truth to which we appeal, or rather to whose appeal we give utterance."

There was a long pause. Bronnen's face glowed with excitement. The king was chilly, and wrapped himself in his mantle. His eyes were closed. At last he sat up and said:

"I thank her; she has given me a friend, a true man. You will remain to me."

The king's voice was hoarse. He wrapped his mantle yet more closely about him, lay back in the corner of the carriage, and closed his eyes. Not another word was uttered until they reached the hunting-seat. The king told his suite that he felt unwell and would not take part in the hunt. The rest of the party plunged into the forest, while the king remained alone with Bronnen.