led sturdily
at the sculls.

Though the sea was comparatively calm, the boat was constantly swinging
over the smooth back of a wave and then sinking down again. Splashes of
spray flew up. When Valerie, after a little while, looked round, she was
a trifle startled to see Altseeborgen receding so far from her. She
hesitated once more, but soon let herself go again....

On leaving the castle, she had had no thought, only an impulse to act.
Now, with her very action, thought rose up again within her, as though
roused from its lethargy by the wind. Valerie's eyes stared before her,
wide and burning, without tears.

It was true, it was real. This was the wheel continually revolving in
her thoughts. It was true, it was real. It was in the papers which
Herman had been skimming through for hours; Sofie had told her; his own
letter informed her of it.

She no longer had that letter, it was destroyed. But every word was
still branded on her imagination.

It was his letter, written in his own words, in his style. How she had
once worshipped his every word! But these words, were they indeed his?
Did he write like that? Could she picture to herself that he would ever
speak thus to her?

He would not like to make her unhappy by loving her against the wish of
her parents, her imperial relations. It was true, of course, that he was
not her equal in birth. His house was of old nobility, but nothing more.
She was of the blood royal and imperial. He was grateful to her for
stooping to him and wishing to raise him to her level. But it was not
right to do this. The traditions of mankind should be inviolate: it was
not right, especially for them, the great ones of the earth, to act
against tradition. They should be grateful for the love which had
brought happiness to their souls, but they must not expect more. It was
not the wish of Vienna that they should love each other. Would he ever
be able to make her entirely happy, would she, if they were married and
retired with their love to a foreign country, never look back with
yearning and feel homesick for the splendour from which he had dragged
her down? For, if they married, he would be still less her equal than he
was before, thanks to his emperor's disfavour. No, no, it could not be.
They must part. They were not born for each other. For a short moment
they had shared the glorious illusion that they were indeed born for
each other; that was all. He would be grateful to her for that me