“Ronsard, I am just now reminded of the tragic story of Rudolf of Austria, who killed himself through the maddening sorrow of an ill-fated love! We, in our different lines of life should remember that,--and let no young innocent heart suffer through our follies--our rages against fate--our conventions--our more or less idiotic laws of restraint and hypocrisy. The tragedy of Prince Rudolf and the unhappy Marie Vetsera whom he worshipped, was caused by the sin and the falsehood of others,--not by the victims of the cruel catastrophe. Therefore, I say to you, my friend, be wise in time!--and control the natural stormy tendency of your passions in this present affair. I assure you, on my faith and honour as a man, that the King has a kindly heart and a brave one,--together with a strong sense of justice. He is not truly known to his people;--they only see him through the pens of press reporters, or the slavish descriptions of toadies and parasites. Then again, the Crown Prince is an honourable lad; and from what I know of him, he is not likely to submit to conventional usages in matters which are close to his life and heart. Gloria herself is of such an exceptional character and disposition, that I think she may be safely left to arbitrate her own destiny----” “And the Queen?” interrupted Ronsard suddenly;--“She, at any rate, as a woman, wife and mother, will be gentle?” “Gentle, she certainly is,” said Von Glauben, with a slight sigh; “But only because she does not consider it worth while to be otherwise! God has put a stone in the place where her heart should be! However,--she will have little to say, and still less to do with to-day’s business. You tell me you will trust me; I promise you, you shall not repent your trust! But I must see Gloria herself. Where is she?” Ronsard pointed towards the cottage. “She is in there, studying,” he said; “Books of the old time;--books that few read. She gets them all from Sergius Thord. How would it be, think you, if he knew?” The pleasantly rubicund countenance of the Professor grew a shade paler. “Sergius Thord--Sergius Thord?--H’m--h’m--let me see!--who is he? Ah! I remember,--he is the Socialist lion, for ever roaring through the streets and seeking whom he may devour! I daresay he is not without cleverness!” “Cleverness!” echoed Ronsard; “That is a tame word! He has genius, and the people swear by him. Since the proposed new taxation, and other injustices of the Government, he has gained adherents by many thousands. You,--whom I once took to be a mere German schoolmaster, a friend of the young ‘sailor’ whom my child so innocently wedded,--you whom I now know to be the King’s physician--surely you cannot live on the mainland, and in the metropolis, without knowing of the power of Sergius Thord?”