Through her sobs she got out words explaining that she was distressed to see him--“so.” He reflected over that a moment, then muttered, as if to himself: “A singular old thing, the Dowager Duchess--means well, but is always snuffling and never able to tell what it is about. It is because she doesn’t know.” His eye fell on Wilhelm. “Prince of India,” he said, “I divine that it is you that the Crown Princess is concerned about. Her tears shall be dried; I will no longer stand between you; she shall share your throne; and between you you shall inherit mine. There, little lady, have I done well? You can smile now--isn’t it so?” He petted Marget and kissed her, and was so contented with himself and with everybody that he could not do enough for us all, but began to give away kingdoms and such things right and left, and the least that any of us got was a principality. And so at last, being persuaded to go home, he marched in imposing state; and when the crowds along the way saw how it gratified him to be hurrahed at, they humored him to the top of his desire, and he responded with condescending bows and gracious smiles, and often stretched out a hand and said, “Bless you, my people!” As pitiful a sight as ever I saw. And Marget, and old Ursula crying all the way. On my road home I came upon Satan, and reproached him with deceiving me with that lie. He was not embarrassed, but said, quite simply and composedly: “Ah, you mistake; it was the truth. I said he would be happy the rest of his days, and he will, for he will always think he is the Emperor, and his pride in it and his joy in it will endure to the end. He is now, and will remain, the one utterly happy person in this empire.” “But the method of it, Satan, the method! Couldn’t you have done it without depriving him of his reason?” It was difficult to irritate Satan, but that accomplished it. “What an ass you are!” he said. “Are you so unobservant as not to have found out that sanity and happiness are an impossible combination? No sane man can be happy, for to him life is real, and he sees what a fearful thing it is. Only the mad can be happy, and not many of those. The few that imagine themselves kings or gods are happy, the rest are no happier than the sane. Of course, no man is entirely in his right mind at any time, but I have been referring to the extreme cases. I have taken from this man that trumpery thing which the race regards as a Mind; I have replaced his tin life with a silver-gilt fiction; you see the result--and you criticize! I said I would make him permanently happy, and I have done it. I have made him happy by the only means possible to his race--and you are not satisfied!” He heaved a discouraged sigh, and said, “It seems to me that this race is hard to please.”