ht which led
me to assume that my happiness or unhappiness was a relevant
consideration in judging of the merits of the universe. The assumption
is so common as to make us forget that so far from being proved it is
not even plausible. I saw the absurdity of it at once, in the light of
my recent discoveries. Was God shamed because Struboff was miserable,
because Coralie was serenely selfish, because Wetter was tempestuous
beyond rescue? I smiled at all these questions, and proceeded to the
inference that the exquisite satisfaction of my own cravings was
probably not an inherent part of the divine purpose. That is, if there
were such a thing; and if there were not, the whole matter was so purely
accidental as not to admit of any one consideration being in the least
degree more or less relevant than another. "Willingly give thyself up to
Clotho, allowing her to spin thy thread into whatever things she
pleases." That was an extremely good maxim; but it would have been of no
service to cast the pearl before Coralie's impresario. I would use it
myself, though. I summoned Vohrenlorf.

"We have stayed here too long, Vohrenlorf," said I. "My presence is
necessary in Forstadt. I must not appear wanting in interest in these
preparations."

"Undoubtedly," said he, "they are very anxious for your Majesty's
return."

"And I am very anxious to return. We'll go by the evening train
to-morrow. Send word to Bederhof."

He seemed rather surprised and not very pleased, but promised to see
that my orders were executed. I sat down in the chair in which Wetter
had sat, and began again to console myself with my Stoic maxim. But
there was a point at which I stuck. I recalled Coralie and her bread,
and regarded Struboff not in the aspect of his own misery (which I had
decided to be irrelevant), but in the light of Coralie's feelings. It
seemed to me that the philosopher should have spared more consideration
to this side of the matter. Had he reached such heights as to be
indifferent not only to his own sufferings, but to being a cause of
suffering to others? Perhaps Marcus Aurelius had attained to this;
Coralie Mansoni, by the way, seemed most blessedly to have been born
into it. To me it was a stone of stumbling. Pride came to me with
insidious aid and admired while I talked of Clotho; but where was my
ally when I pictured Elsa also making her surrender to the Fates? My
ally then became my enemy. With a violent wrench I brought myself to t