He walked to the door. He stopped for a moment, as if listening for a word from her--a word to which he would have replied from the depths of his heart, a word which would have saved and reconciled them both.

The queen looked after him. Would he not turn again? would he not once more, with heart-piercing tone, cry: "Forgive me!" The love that still dwelt in her impelled her toward him. It was but for a moment that the king paused. Involuntarily, the queen stretched her arms toward him--the moment had pa.s.sed and, with it, the king had left.

The queen walked to the _portiere_, and stared fixedly at it. Then she fell back on the sofa and wept. She lay there weeping for a long while.

CHAPTER XIX.

The queen was now doubly unhappy. She felt unutterable grief because of her lost love, and had, moreover, suffered herself to be led away by wicked and hateful pa.s.sion. The sense of freedom and of elevation, which Gunther had awakened in her, had vanished. And now that the heart-rending separation had taken place, it seemed to her like a death that had been foreseen. But, although we behold its approach from afar, death ever brings new and unlooked-for woe in its train.

The queen went to the crown prince's apartments. On her way, she pa.s.sed by the king's cabinet. She paused for a moment, and asked herself how it would be if she were to enter here, clasp him in her arms and say: "Let all be forgotten; you are unhappy as well as I, and I will help you to bear your lot."

She pa.s.sed on, for she felt afraid lest she might again appear to him as weak and wavering, while she meant to be strong.

When she saw her child, her eyes regained a bright expression. The child had not seen its mother weeping and wrestling with her sorrow, and now she was with him again. "He, too, will come here," said an inner voice that she was almost loth to listen to. She trembled when she learned that the king had had the prince brought to his apartments that very day.

She waited for a long while. She would kiss the boy's little hand again and again, and would look around to see if the father were not coming.

He came not.

The king was sitting in his cabinet, his hands pressed against his burning brow. He had pa.s.sed the turning-point in his career, and he could no longer permit himself to be oppressed by private, personal griefs. He had repented, and that was sufficient. He was determined to effect a change in himself, and that was more than enough. Of what use were further accusations and penalties? A deep feeling of resentment against his wife arose within him. She was weak and revengeful. No, not weak; she was endowed with a power of which he had never had the faintest presentiment, and he felt deeply conscious of the grievous fault he had committed in deceiving such a wife. He was, however, unable to free himself from the thought that his punishment was an affront to his exalted position. And while his own life-fabric lay in ruins, why should he, with wondrous self-denial, set about righting the lives of others? The heart that is reconciled and at peace with itself, is the only one that can exert a reconciling and peaceful influence on others. A spirit of defiance and discontent moved him to abandon the reforms he had begun, for she who was nearest and dearest to him, his own wife, would not justly acknowledge them.

He sat there for a long while, dull and depressed. At length he arose, his face expressive of defiance and firmness. He had determined to accomplish the good, whether his efforts were appreciated or misjudged.

His strength for good had conquered. Unaided, and for the sake of his own honor, he had determined to carry out the measures that he considered right, and the happiness that this would cause him must compensate for the lost pleasures of love.

There were great festivities at court that evening.

The betrothal of Princess Angelica to Prince Arnold was officially celebrated. The queen appeared, leaning on her husband's arm, and had a kind and gentle greeting for every one. She looked weak, but none the less beautiful.

No one was able to discover the faintest trace of the rupture between the royal pair, nor did any one notice that the ring was no longer on the king's hand.

The king and queen conversed with apparent cordiality, but she often looked as if she must ask him: "Has nothing happened?"

Then she would look about her fearfully, as if the specter of Irma must suddenly appear in white, dripping garments.

When the king, accompanied by the queen, had made the round of the saloons, he saluted Bronnen most cordially and remained with him for some time, engaged in lively conversation.

The queen looked on in amazement. She well knew that Bronnen had secretly admired Irma, and had even sought her hand. How had it happened that the king had become so intimate with this man, and distinguished him above all the other members of the court? There was no opportunity to obtain information on this point. The whole summer palace was illuminated; the terrace was hung with variegated lamps; vessels of burning pitch were placed in the park, sending their brightness out into the autumn night; the band of Prince Arnold's regiment played merry airs, the glow of lights and the sounds of music were wafted far out into the valley and even into the mountains, on whose lonely heights there were human dwellings.

The queen met Gunther, but simply exchanged a few hasty words with him.

The king greeted him politely as he pa.s.sed by.

He won't be so cruel, thought the queen. There was a strange shyness in her expression whenever her eyes rested on Gunther, and, on one occasion, the king observed this and shook his head. The queen felt that Gunther must be displeased with her, for she had not acted according to the laws that he had explained to her.

On the following day, it was reported throughout the capital that Doctor Gunther had received his dismissal.

The official gazette which contained an account of the betrothal festivities announced that "His Majesty the King has been graciously pleased to accept the resignation of his body physician, Privy Councilor Gunther, and, in token of his satisfaction, has conferred the cross of Commander of the ---- Order upon him."

Among the personal announcements was the following:

"I bid farewell to all my friends, and am about to remove to my native town ---- in the Highlands.

"DOCTOR WILLIAM GUNTHER,

"_Privy Councilor and late Physician in Ordinary to His Majesty the King_:"

A STORY

OF

A SOLITARY WORLDLING.

BOOK VII.

(IRMA'S JOURNAL.)

Cast ash.o.r.e--what is there left me, but to live on, because I am not dead?

For days and nights, this unsolved question kept me, as it were, hovering between heaven and earth, just as it was in the terrible moment when I glided down from the rock.

I have solved the problem.

I am working. I shall remain resolved, no matter what the result. I find it a relief to note down my thoughts and feelings.

I was ill,--of a fever, they tell me,--and now I am at work.

I had told the grandmother of what I could do, but there was no chance to apply it here. She took me out into the garden, and we gathered up the apples that Uncle Peter shook down from the tree. Then the old, blind pensioner, whose room is over mine, came out and told us, with angry cries, that a certain portion of the apples belonged to him. He tried to find one, so that he might taste it, and thus ascertain which tree we were shaking. I handed him an apple, and told him that I lived in the room under his.

We were still in the garden, when a man came who wanted to purchase two maple-trees that were standing by the cross road, in order to use them for carving. This seemed like a ray of hope. I told the grandmother that I knew how to mold in clay, and that I thought I could easily learn how to carve in wood. And now I'm in the workshop, as a pupil.

This is my first free Sunday, and, while all are away at church, I am writing this.