ed perhaps a god to laugh at it,
but the smaller points were within the sphere of human ridicule; with
them there was no danger of amusement suffering a sudden death, and a
swift resurrection in the changed shape of indignation.

There was already much to laugh at, but now a new occasion came, taking
its rise in a thing which seemed very distinct, and appertaining to
moods and feelings long gone by, a plaything of memory destined (as it
had appeared) to play no more part in actual life. The matter was simply
this: Count Max von Sempach was on leave, and proposed with my
permission to be in Forstadt for the wedding festivities.

Bederhof had heard legendary tales; his manner was dubious and solemn as
he submitted the Count's proposal to me; Princess Heinrich's
carelessness of reference would have stirred suspicion in the most
guileless heart; William Adolphus broke into winks and threatened
nudges; I invoked my dignity just in time. Victoria was rather excited,
rather pleased, looking forward to an amusing spectacle. Evidently
something had reached Cousin Elizabeth's ears, for she overflowed with
unspoken assurances that the news was of absolutely no importance, that
she took no notice of boyish follies, and did not for a moment doubt my
whole-hearted devotion to Elsa. Elsa herself betrayed consciousness only
by not catching my eye when the Sempachs' coming cropped up in
conversation. For my own part I said that I should be very glad to see
the Count and the Countess, and that they had a clear claim to their
invitation. My mother's manner had shown that she felt herself in no
position to raise objections; Bederhof took my commands with resigned
deference. I was aware that his wife had ceased to call on the Countess
some time before Count Max went Ambassador to Paris.

Max had done his work very well--his appointment has been quoted as an
instance of my precocious insight into character--and his work did not
appear to have done him any harm. When he called on me I found him the
same sincere simple fellow that he had been always. By consent we talked
of private affairs, rather than of business. He told me that Tote was
growing into a tall girl, that his other children also shot up, but (he
added proudly) his wife did not look a day older, and her appearance
had, if anything, improved. She had been happy at Paris, he said, "but,
to be sure, she'd be happy anywhere with the children and her home." The
modesty of the last w