dignity,
somewhat wounded by the trick his master had played upon him, was
healing quickly under the balm of King Rudolf's graciousness. And the
king said to Count Sergius:

"My lord, were you ever in love?"

"I was, sire," said the count.

"So was I," said the king. "Was it with the countess, my lord?"

Count Sergius's eyes twinkled demurely; but he answered:

"I take it, sire, that it must have been with the countess."

"And I take it," said the king, "that it must have been with the
queen."

Then they both laughed, and then they both sighed; and the king,
touching the count's elbow, pointed out to the terrace of the palace,
on to which the room where they were opened. For Princess Osra and her
lover were walking up and down together on this terrace. And the two
shrugged their shoulders, smiling.

[Illustration: "HE LEANED FROM HIS SADDLE AS HE DASHED BY, AND ...
SNATCHED THE KING'S SWORD AWAY FROM HIM, JUST AS THE KING WAS ABOUT TO
THRUST IT THROUGH HIS SISTER'S LOVER."]

"With him," remarked the king, "it will have been with--"

"The countess, sire," discreetly interrupted Count Sergius of Antheim.

"Why, yes, the countess," said the king; and, with a laugh, they
turned bank to their wine.

But the two on the terrace also talked.

"I do not yet understand it," said Princess Osra. "For on the first
day I loved you, and on the second I loved you, and on the third, and
the fourth, and every day I loved you. Yet the first day was not like
the second, nor the second like the third, nor any day like any other.
And to-day, again, is unlike them all. Is love so various and full of
changes?"

"Is it not?" he asked with a smile. "For while you were with the
queen, talking of I know not what--"

"Nor I, indeed," said Osra hastily.

"I was with the king, and he, saying that forewarned was forearmed,
told me very strange and pretty stories. Of some a report had reached
me before--"

"And yet you came to Strelsau?"

"While of others, I had not heard."

"Or you would not have come to Strelsau?"

The Grand Duke, not heeding these questions, proceeded to his
conclusion:

"Love, therefore," said he, "is very various. For M. de Merosailles--"

"These are old stories," cried Osra, pretending to stop her ears.

"Loved in one way, and Stephen the Smith in another, and--the Miller
of Hofbau in a third."

"I think," said Osra, "that I have forgotten the Miller of Hofbau. But
can one heart love in many diffe