And something in the duchess had made an impression on him, as of a thing unknown. He felt in this woman, who curtseyed so deeply before him with her sphinx-like smile, a world of emotion and knowledge which he did not possess; he had felt poor in comparison with her, small and insignificant. What was it that she possessed and he not? Was it a riddle of the soul? Were there such things, soul-enigmas, and was it worth while to try to fathom them? Such a woman as she, was she not quite different from his mother and sisters? Or did his equerries, among themselves, speak of his sisters too as they spoke of the duchess? And this life of passion, this life of love for so many, was that then the truth? Did they not slander her, the equerries, or at least did they not make truth seem different from what it was, as they always did in everything, as if the truth must always be made to seem other to a prince than to a subject? He felt tired. And he sat on, striving in vain to drive from him the whirl of the strange figures of that reception seen through a transparency of rain. Before him, as though in his room, they all walked through one another: the ministers, the equerries, Count Myxila and the duchess.... A knock, a chamberlain: "Prince Herman is asking whether he may intrude on your highness for a minute." He nodded yes. After a moment Prince Herman entered. "You are always welcome, Herman," said Othomar; and his voice sounded cold in spite of himself. "I have come to ask you something," said Herman of Gothland. "I should much like to go with you to Altara to-morrow; but I want to be certain that you don't mind. I would not have asked it of my own accord, if my aunt hadn't spoken of it. What do you think?" Othomar looked at Herman; Othomar did not like his cool voice: "If you do so out of sympathy, because you happen to be at Lipara, by all means," he began.... "Let me tell you once more: I am doing this chiefly because of ... your mother." His voice sounded very emphatic. "Do it for her then," replied Othomar, gently. "It will give me great pleasure if you go with me for my mother's sake." Herman realized that he had been unnecessarily cool and emphatic. He was sorry. The empress had asked him to accompany Othomar. He had hesitated at first, knowing that there was a lack of sympathy between Othomar and him. Then he had yielded, but had not known how to ask Othomar. His usual ease of manner had forsaken him, as it always did in Othomar's presence. "Very well, then," Herman stammered, awkwardly. Othomar put out his hand: "I understand your intention perfectly. Mamma would like you to go too, because she will then be sure that there is some one with me whom I can trust in everything. Isn't that it?" Herman pressed his hand: