Gunther felt sorry, and expressed his regrets to Irma, that the king, in appointing a reactionary and ultramonnate ministry, had taken a step fraught with serious consequences. In firm and measured language, he inveighed against all the romance of the convent. Irma had not enough courage to confess how much she was to blame in all this, and consoled herself with the thought that the king had, in the queen's presence, rejected all outside influence. For the first time, she became conscious of a feeling of antagonism to the doctor, who, in her eyes, now seemed illiberal and filled with the fanaticism of unbelief. He was a stranger to the greatest glory in life, the flights of a soaring soul, and anathematized them by the words "romance" and "sentimentalism." The king, solitary and alone while breasting the torrent of public opinion, seemed to her greater than ever before. The idea that she had once expressed in a letter to Emma, gradually became clearer to her. No one but a king, and such a one as he, has the large and comprehensive mind that will not suffer itself to be cramped by the systems of the schools. Logic is only part of the human mind. The complete man alone possesses a complete mind. Even such a mind and such a man as the doctor, seemed to her to suffer by comparison with the only one. Walpurga was quite uneasy on account of the second change of residence, and complained to Irma that it was a fearful life. "Why, it's nothing but living in carriages. You never get a chance to feel settled anywhere. It don't seem right to go and come in this way. Of course, they drive the cattle away from the mountain-meadows when the grass is gone, but cattle aren't human beings. I can't help pitying my poor prince, for there's nothing in his youth worth remembering. When he gets older, he won't be able to say: 'I used to be at home here, and saw these trees blossom and bear fruit; and then the snow covered them, and, after that, the spring came'--and if the poor child hasn't that, where'll it ever have a home?" At breakfast, Irma repeated Walpurga's words, and found much that was affecting and poetical in this identifying one's-self with nature, and in this attachment to lifeless objects. The ladies and gentlemen in the breakfast-room could not understand where the poetry lay, for to them, it seemed narrow-mindedness. Baron Schoning interposed, and reminded them that this attachment to the soil possessed its advantages; for it was thus alone that solitary heights and valleys were inhabited. He maintained that the common people could only be governed by the force of habit; that man, as a free agent, must rid himself of such restraint; and that the true poetic idea was that of Pegasus resting on the earth, but yet able to wing his flight aloft.