nor of the city and his staff, the chief
burgomaster and his councillors, imitating my example. As we passed
slowly along the Graben towards the cathedral, I recalled the night when
Max and I, with our father and mother, had said good-bye to the capital,
and had gone into exile. My father and mother had never seen their
country again, and now Max was coming back to it, unconscious of the
fact, to take his last long rest in the old grey cathedral in which so
many of our race lay buried. Slowly and solemnly, to the accompaniment
of wailing bands, we crossed the King's Square and approached the
majestic pile, whose roofs and parapets towered above us, thickly coated
with snow. The deep tones of the bell echoed mournfully in the gathering
darkness, while the troops that lined the streets presented arms, and
the crowd stood bareheaded as we passed. At last we reached the foot of
the cathedral steps, where the white-robed clergy, with the
archbishop--the same who had baptised us--at their head, were waiting to
receive us. The coffin having been removed from the hearse, and a new
procession formed, we entered the church and passed up the central
aisle, to the music of the Dead March, towards the spot where a
catafalque had been prepared for the lying-in-state. Upon this we placed
the casket that contained the remains of our dear one, and when a short
service had been conducted, and the guard of honour mounted, we left the
cathedral and returned, through the still waiting crowd, to the palace
on the other side of the square. On the morrow and the next day there
was to be a public lying-in-state; and on the day following, the funeral
would take place. In the meantime there was much for us to do. There
were the representatives of the various European sovereigns to be
received and lodged, the precedence of each to be settled, and their
positions allotted by the chamberlains; while there was also the
progress of the war, to which it was necessary that I should give almost
unremitting attention. Fortunately, however, that was nearly at an end.
Indeed, it was as if Max's death had set the final seal upon it. As a
matter of fact, it was rumoured that proposals for peace were already in
course of formation, and were soon to be submitted. Later in the evening
came the news by telegram that Ottilie and her father had crossed the
Channel, and were on their way to Pannonia. I had scarcely received it
when old Antoine, my ever-faithful groom