The archduchess' lady-in-waiting left the room: she returned with the message that her imperial highness was expecting the empress. Elizabeth found Valérie lying on a sofa, wearing a white lace tea-gown, looking very pale, with great, dark, dull eyes; she rose, however: "Forgive me, ma'am," she said, in apology. Elizabeth embraced her with great tenderness; the archduchess added: "I was not well, I felt so tired...." But then her eyes met Elizabeth's and she saw that the empress did not expect her to exhibit superhuman endurance. She nestled up against her and cried softly, as one cries who has already wept long and passionately and is now exhausted with weeping and has not the strength to weep except very, very softly. The empress made her sit down, sat down beside her and caressed her with a soothing movement of her hand. Neither of the two spoke; neither of the two found words in the difficult relation which at that moment they bore one to the other. Two days ago, the day before that fixed for the bride's journey to Altara, the news had arrived that Prince von Lohe-Obkowitz had shot himself in Paris. The actual reason of this suicide was not known. Some thought that the prince had taken much to heart the disfavour of the Emperor of Austria and the quarrel with his own family; others that he had lost a fortune at baccarat and that his ruin was completed by the bohemian extravagance of his wife, the notorious Estelle Desvaux, who herself had been ruined more than once in her life, but had always retrieved her position by means of a theatrical tour and the sale of a few diamonds. Others again maintained that Prince Lohe had never been able to forget his love for the future Duchess of Xara. But, whatever might be suggested in Viennese court-circles, nothing was known for certain. Valérie had by accident read the report, which they had tried to conceal from her, in the same newspaper in which, now almost a year ago, she had, also by accident, on the terrace at Altseeborgen, read the news of Prince Lohe's proposed marriage and surrender of his rights. Her soul, which had no tendency to mysticism, nevertheless, in the shock of despair that now passed through it, became almost superstitious because of this repetition of cruelty. But when, months ago, she had combated and worn out her sorrow, it had been followed by an indifference to any further suffering that she might yet have to experience in life. The death of her illusions was a final death; after her betrothal she had as it were found herself with a new soul, hardened and girt about with indifference. It was strange that in this indifference the only thing to which she continued sensible was that exquisiteness in Othomar's character: his delicacy in sparing her at Altseeborgen, against Oscar's desire; his wide feeling of universal love for his people; all his gentle nature and simple sense of duty.... But, however indifferent she