her at a certain sentence with a light stress of voice and eyes,
pointing the dialogue of the novel; this made the empress smile and she
listened afresh. The anxiety smouldered in her, but she extinguished it
with abounding acquiescence, acquiescence in what was to happen, in what
must happen.

The novel which Helene was reading was _Daniele Cortis_, a work that was
in vogue at court because the Princess Thera had liked it. The countess
read carefully and with great expression; the rhythm of the Italian came
from her lips with the elegance of very pointed Venetian glass, flowery
and transparent. And the empress wondered that Helene could read so
beautifully and that she did not seem to feel the anxiety which
nevertheless stole about everywhere, like a spectre.

There was a knock at the door leading from the anteroom; a flunkey
opened the door; a lady-in-waiting appeared between the hangings and
curtseyed:

"His highness Prince Herman," she announced in a voice that hesitated a
little, as though she knew that this hour of the afternoon was almost
sacred to the empress.

"Ask the prince to come in," replied the empress: her voice, with all
its haughtiness, sounded kind and attractive and sympathetic. "We have
been expecting the prince so long...."

The door remained open, the lady-in-waiting disappeared, the flunkey
waited at the hangings, motionless, for the prince to come. His firm
tread sounded, approaching quickly, through the anteroom; and he made a
pleasant entrance, with friendliness in his healthy, red face and the
joy of meeting in his large grey eyes, with their gleaming black pupils.
The flunkey closed the door behind him.

"Aunt!"

The prince stepped towards the empress with both hands outstretched. She
had risen, as had Helene, and she moved a step towards him; she took his
two hands and allowed him to kiss her heartily on both cheeks.

Helene curtseyed.

"Countess of Thesbia," said the prince, bowing.

"So you have come at last!" said the empress, with jesting discontent.
She shook her head, but could not but look kindly at his pleasant,
handsome, healthy face. "Why did you not telegraph for certain when you
were coming? Then Othomar would have gone to the station, but now...."

She shrugged her shoulders with a smile of regret, as much as to say
that now it could not be helped that his reception had only been _tel
quel_....

"But, aunt," said Herman--the tone of his voice implied that he wou