hat so many children are born among the
proletariate and they even hold the poor parents, who have nothing else
but their love, responsible for the greater social misery which they
cause through those children. Does not this reproach really affect us
also? Or do you think an emperor so happy?"

Her brow became overcast.

"You are in one of your gloomy moods, Othomar. For God's sake, my boy,
do not give way to them. Do not philosophize so much; accept life as it
has been given to you. That is the only way in which to bear it. Do not
reflect whether you will be happy, when you are emperor, but accept the
fact that you must become emperor in your turn."

"Very well, for myself: but why children, mamma?"

"What sovereign allows his house to die out, Othomar? Do not be foolish.
Cling to tradition: that is all in all to us. Don't have such strange
ideas upon this question. They are not those of a future--I had almost
said--autocrat; they are not those of a monarch. You understand,
Othomar, do you not? You must, you must marry...."

Her voice sounded more decided than usual, sounded almost hard.

"And, dearest boy," she continued, "thank the circumstances and marry
now, as quickly as possible. Our relations with foreign countries are at
this moment such that there are no particular indications as to whom you
ought to marry. You can more or less pick and choose. For you are the
crown-prince of a great empire, my boy, of one of the greatest empires
in Europe...."

He tried to speak; she continued, hurriedly:

"I repeat, you can--very nearly--choose. You don't know how much that
means. Appreciate this, appreciate the circumstances. Travel to all the
courts of Europe that are worth considering. Use your eyes, make your
choice. There are pretty princesses in England, in Austria...."

Othomar closed his eyes an instant, as though exhausted with weariness:

"Later on, mamma," he whispered.

"No, my boy," said the empress, "do not speak of later on, do not put
off. Think it over. Think how you will order your journey and whom you
will take with you and then talk it over with papa and Myxila. Will you
promise?"

He just pressed his head against her and promised, with a weary smile.

"But what's the matter with you, my boy?" she asked. "What is it?"

His eyes grew moist.

"I don't know, mamma. I am so tired sometimes...."

"Aren't you well?"

"Yes, I'm all right, but I am so tired...."

"But why, my child?"

He b