“That the Emperor has practically washed his hands of you, my dear, and that your day for receiving official information is over--for which I hope you are duly thankful. It has been a long and weary tussle, but Fessenden has won on every score but the last: he was set on marrying you in the Hofburg, but there your father held out. They were at it alone for two hours, and even Fessenden was limp when he left the palace, while the poor Emperor went to bed and slept ten hours instead of seven. No argument nor reasoning could move him. In so far as he could punish and humiliate you he would; moreover, he wishes the public to know nothing of the affair until it is over. Fessenden was forced to give way, partly because he didn’t want to be the death of him, partly because every delay involves too much risk. So, my dear, prepare for the shock--they are all coming to-morrow--the Emperor, my father and Fessenden, the Archdukes and Constitutional Cabinet--to witness the oath of renunciation, the Archbishop to administer it--not a woman but myself and Maria Leopoldina--no wedding-gown--I begged him to let me bring one, but he said you should be married in a travelling-dress and hat and go from the chapel to the yacht. He is fearfully upset, and I confess my knees shook when I received his summons to the Hofburg yesterday. He gave me my official instructions, if you like to call them that, in less than ten minutes, and then wouldn’t even shake hands with me, much less kiss me. Well--there you are! Of course, if you want to retreat it is not too late.” The words had dinned into Ranata’s ears like the inharmonious clashing of many bells, and her mental attitude was little less homogeneous. Her conquering sensation was one of profound humiliation, accompanied by a vivid appreciation of all she was renouncing. In less than forty-eight hours she would be no longer the daughter of a great empire, Archduchess of Austria and Princess of Hungary, but a _citoyenne_, a unit of a huge and heaving republic. And, barring the unavoidable ceremony of renunciation and the distinguished witnesses, she was to be married and despatched as were she one of her own maids. Was love so tremendous a thing that it was worth the barter of birthright and the loftiest state to which a mortal might be born? Ranata had driven forth most of her traditions, but she was the descendant of eight centuries of kings, and her Americanism was yet in the making. She looked hard into the future, and wondered. At this juncture Alexandra produced a letter. “It is from Fessenden. I will leave you alone with it if you will tell me where I am to sleep. I dined on the train, but I’d like to get into something loose.”