the presence of my
French body-servant Baptiste. I liked Baptiste; he was by conviction an
anarchist, by prejudice a freethinker; one shrug of his shoulders
disposed of the institutions of this world, another relegated the next
to the limbo of delusions. He was always respectful, but possessed an
unconquerably intimate manner; he could not forget that man spoke to
man, although one might be putting on the other's boots for him. He
regarded me with mingled affection and pity. I had overheard him
speaking of _le pauvre petit roi_; the point of view was so much my own
that from the instant my heart went out to Baptiste. Since he attributed
to me no sacro-sanctity, he was not officious or persistent in his
attendance while he was on duty; in fact he left me very much to my own
devices. To my mother he was polite but cold; he adored Victoria,
declaring that she was worthy of being French; his great hatred was for
Hammerfeldt, whom he accused of embodying the devil of Teutonism.
Hammerfeldt was aware of his feelings and played with them, while he
trusted Baptiste more than anybody about me. He did not know how
attached I was to the Frenchman, and I did not intend that he should
learn. I had received a sharp lesson with regard to parading my
preferences.

It was through Baptiste that I heard of Baron Fritz's side of the case,
for Baptiste was friendly with Fritz's servants. The Baron, it appeared,
was in despair. "They watch him when he walks by the river," declared
Baptiste with a gesture in which dismay and satisfaction were curiously
blended.

"Poor fellow!" said I, leaning back in the stern of the boat. To be in
such a state on Victoria's account was odd and deplorable.

Baptiste laid down the sculls and leaned forward smiling.

"It is nothing, sire," said he. "It must happen now and again to all of
us. M. le Baron will soon be well. Meanwhile he is--oh, miserable!"

"Is he all alone there?" I asked.

"Absolutely, sire. He will see nobody."

I looked up at Waldenweiter.

"He has not even his mother with him," said Baptiste; the remark, as
Baptiste delivered it, was impertinent, and yet so intangibly
impertinent as to afford no handle for reproof. He meant that the Baron
was free from an aggravation; he said that he lacked a consolation.

"Shall I go and see him?" I asked. In truth I was rather curious about
him; it was a pleasure to me to break out of my own surroundings.

"What would the Prince say?" said Bap