The rushing, throbbing car, the motionless figure of the Duke at his side, the broad, winding road, the sunlit, peaceful, countryside, his own thoughts--all these things were the very stuff of dreams, fantastic, unbelievable, unreal. His deadness of feeling, his heaviness of thought, were dream. His lost youth was dream. This silence? No one ever spoke in dreams-- At last the throbbing car slowed down suddenly; then stopped. The Duke was up, and out of the car, in a moment. The King followed the old statesman out on to the road more leisurely. An odd, unexpected turn, this, in the dream, but dream, assuredly still dream-- It was a vivid little dream scene which followed. The car had pulled up at the Paradise-Hades signpost of all places. That could only have happened in dream-- A little group of saluting soldiers, and bareheaded civilian officials, stood under the familiar signpost. Half a dozen cars were parked in the side road, behind them. In the centre of the main road stood an open state carriage, with a team of six grey horses, in the charge of postillions and out-riders, who were wearing the scarlet coats, and white breeches of the Royal livery. A bodyguard of Household Cavalry, whose swords, breastplates and plumed helmets glittered in the sun, were drawn up near by. The King turned to the Duke. The veteran Prime Minister smiled. "This is where you begin your triumphant return to your capital, sir," he said. "A great welcome awaits you, between here and the palace. The Cabinet were making the necessary arrangements when I left town this morning. You will permit me to follow you to the carriage, sir?" People did speak in dreams, then--sometimes-- Mechanically, the King moved slowly along the sunlit road, towards the carriage, followed by the Duke at a distance of some half dozen paces. An extraordinary dream this, amazingly vivid and minute in its detail; but dream, certainly dream. If only he could awake! Where would he awake? In the palace? In Paradise? He must awake soon-- The King got into the state carriage, and sat down. The scarlet coated footman, who had held open the carriage door, was about to shut it again--when the King missed the Duke from his side-- A terrifying thrill of loneliness, a horror of his sudden isolation, ran through the King. He turned hastily. The Duke was standing, drawn up to his full height, with bared head, a magnificent, a real, a vital figure, in this sunlit world of phantom shadows, some yards away from the carriage. The King beckoned to him desperately. The Duke was at his side in a moment. "You must not leave me. You must come with me. I cannot face this--nightmare--alone," the King said in an urgent whisper. "I shall--lose my reason--if you leave me. I am not sure now, at this moment, whether I am asleep or awake. Do people talk in dreams? You seem real. All the rest, everything else is--the stuff of dreams. You cannot leave me."