"His Majesty desires me to assure you of his sincere sympathy, and to say that if you wish to go away in order to arrange your family affairs, to pursue investigations at the lake, or to divert your thoughts by travel, you are at liberty to do so. Leave of absence, for an indefinite period, will be sent after you."

These were the words with which the lord steward, who had been sent to inform Bruno of his sister's death, concluded his message. He pressed Bruno's hand, kissed him on both cheeks, and left.

As soon as he was out of doors the lord steward fanned himself with his pocket-handkerchief. The dread task which had fallen to his lot had greatly agitated him, but still he could not help admitting that Bruno had received the terrible news with great composure.

While the lord steward remained in the room, Bruno had sat on a sofa in the corner covering his face with his handkerchief, and listening quietly and patiently to it all, as if it were the news of some strange, remote event that in no way affected him.

But now he was alone again. He sat silent for awhile, unconsciously playing with a scented note which he had received a little while before.

Suddenly, he sprang from his seat as if crazed, seized a chair and broke it. This seemed to do him good. Then, as if possessed by a demon, he threw himself on the floor and lay there, raving, writhing, and screaming fearfully.

The servant entered and, finding his master lying on the floor, lifted him up.

"I'm ill!" said he. "No, I'm not ill! I won't be ill! Go at once to chamberlain Von Ross or to intendant Von Schoning, and request one of those gentlemen to come to me directly. If my wife inquires for me, say that I've gone out with the master of the household."

The servant went away and Bruno stood at the window, looking out into the street. The mist had disappeared and now revealed the park in all its beauty. The gardener was removing the pots that contained faded flowers, and replacing them with fresh ones. Arabella's pet greyhound was sitting on the gravel path; it looked up at its master and, in token of its joy, jumped about and ran around the arbor.

Although Bruno saw it all, he was thinking of something quite different.

"Ha ha!" he laughed, "I never thought that this world was anything but an empty farce. He who frets away an hour is a fool. Now I am quite free," said he, drawing himself up; "quite free. Now there is no one on earth for whom I need care. World, I am free and alone! And now for seventy years to come, give me all thy pleasures! Thou canst not harm me! I trample everything under foot!"

He stopped to listen--but no one came.

Bruno had always lived in society, but had never passed any time in the society of his own thoughts. Now, when he was lonely and in mourning they came to him--neglected-looking companions with an eager air and merry glances--and cried: "Leave it all; come with us! Let us be merry! What avails your grieving? You will be old before your time."

He stood before a mirror, and they said to him: "See how horrible you look."

He could not rid himself of his companions. They played merry dances; they jingled their gold and cried: "va banque"; they rattled the glasses and showed him voluptuous and seductive forms, and he could hear rude and wanton laughter. They filled the room; they seized him and wanted to dance about with him; but he stood firm, clenching his fists and unable to go. And then they cried to him: "We know you! You are a silly boy and care for what the world thinks. You have no courage! Cheer up! Let them taunt you, but be merry, nevertheless. The day you lose in fretting, no one can ever give back to you. Fie! at this begging for sympathy! Go about and say: 'I'm a poor man, my father's dead and my sister drowned herself.' Get some one to make a song for you, and another to paint a little sign, and wander about from fair to fair, asking for an alms. Fie! fie! You must do one thing or the other: despise the world, or let it pity you. Which do you choose? How often have you said: 'I despise the world'--and what makes you afraid? You are sitting there, and would like to go out; who closes the door? who has tied your horse's feet? You are alone. The dear friends, the kind-hearted beings, the sympathizing souls, will come and say: 'Be firm; be a man; conquer your grief!' And what will the dear souls do for you? They will give you the alms of sympathy and then leave you in solitude, while they go their way in search of pleasure. As long as there is playing, dancing, drinking, they are true and enduring friends; but no feast will be put off for your sake, nothing will be changed. If you mean to enjoy the world you must despise mankind. They merely say to you: 'Be a man'--but be one."

His thoughts worked him into a frenzy. The next few days seemed a yawning unfathomable abyss staring him in the face. All was empty, void, hollow, joyless, consuming solitude.

He was at last released, for the servant entered and announced the intendant.

They had not been great friends, but now Bruno embraced the intendant as if he were the only friend he had in the world, and lay on his neck sobbing and begging him not to abandon him to solitude. He raged and raved and, with a strange mixture of blasphemy and mockery, reviled his fate. "Oh, the terrible days that await me!" he exclaimed vehemently.

"Time heals all wounds," said the intendant.

"But to pass weeks, aye months, in mourning!" cried Bruno again.

The intendant started. He had received an insight into this man's character. What grieved him most was the long period during which he would have to seem to be in mourning.

It could not have happened at a more unfavorable time.

Bruno had entered two of his best horses for the races which were to come off in a few days. He had intended to ride Zuleika himself in a trotting match, and, for the great hurdle race, he had carefully trained Fitz, his groom. The name was really Fritz, but Fitz sounded better. Fitz, Baum's son, was a thorough rascal, in whom his father took great pride. His future was assured, for there was no doubt that if Fitz did not break his limbs, he would be the first jockey in the stables. He sat his horse like a cat, and it was impossible to throw him.

The weather was charming. There were just enough clouds to shield one from the burning rays of the sun, and during the night there had been a gentle rain which had improved the course. Fitz, in his green and white suit, would surely win the first prize. Bruno was not a little proud of Fitz's livery. He had, as it were, divided him in two, from the crown of his head to his feet his dress was grass-green on the right and snow-white on the left. What a pity that there are but seven cardinal colors, thus affording so little chance to indulge one's love of variety. But still, persistence can accomplish much, and while Bruno held his handkerchief before his face, he smiled at the thought of Fitz with one boot green and the other white.

"Of course, I shan't ride," he said to the intendant. "Do you think I ought to allow my jockey to do so? I may do that; may I not?" he hastily added, as if fearing a negative reply. "They would think it mean of me, if I didn't. I have a large amount staked on the race. I shall let Fitz ride. Yes, I must; there's no harm in that." He had scarcely finished speaking, when Fitz entered the room. In a harsh voice Bruno told him to go away. He was determined to act as though he had forgotten all about the races. That would prove his sorrow far more effectually than if he were to withdraw his engagement. He would submit to the fine for non-appearance, and the world would thus perceive that his grief was deep enough to make him forget everything.