said Max feebly. "'Tis better
so, believe me. If I had to live my life again, I would not omit this
portion of it for anything. And now leave me alone with my brother.
Something tells me we shall not have much more time together."

The others did as he commanded, and when the door was closed upon them
once more, I took my place at his side. He took my hand in his, and his
dark eyes looked lovingly upon me.

"Paul," he said, "that old gipsy woman was right after all when she
inferred that you would be King. My dear old brother, don't think I
grudge you the honour. Heaven knows I do not. You will make a better
king that I should ever have done. I have never even been able to rule
myself; how much less, then, should I have been able to rule others? And
now tell me of yourself. There is not much time to waste. Our mother and
father are dead?"

"Yes," I answered; "and they died loving you and speaking of you to the
last."

"And Ottilie?"

"She loves you too," I replied. "She has encouraged me in my search for
you, and will be stricken with grief when she hears that I have found
you too late."

Here I broke down altogether, and sobbed with my head upon my hands.

"My dear old fellow," said Max, stroking my hair, "you must not give way
like this. There is nothing to be sorry for. I have fought for my
country, and have given my life for her, as so many thousands of other
men have done. Fate has played with me all my life, but in death she is
kinder than she has ever been before."

There was another short pause, during which I knelt beside him, his hand
resting upon my shoulder. Never in my life before had I suffered such
agony as I did then. Max, on the other hand, was quite calm; he spoke of
our father and mother; later, of our country and her future.

"Please God, happier days are in store for her," he said. "You will make
a good king, Paul, and under your rule she will prosper as she has not
done for years past. Ottilie will make you a noble queen, and together
you will win the love and admiration of your people. I should have liked
to see you happy together."

At this I again broke down completely.

"Oh, Max!" I faltered, "do not talk of us. What will anything mean to
Ottilie and myself when we have lost you?"

As I spoke I thought of our boyhood, of the old, happy days in Pannonia,
when we had been such firm and dear companions. I could recall nothing
in Max's character that was not self-sacrificing, and to