sounds had died away in the
hall; a deadly silence reigned. Here the world of sorrow which had
filled the palace and the country seemed to have become sanctified in an
ecstasy of calm. And Othomar saw himself alone with his soul. The
uncertainty of life, the vanity of human intentions were again revealed
to him, but more clearly; they were no longer black mystery, they became
harmony. It was as though he saw the whole harmony of the past: in all
Liparia's historic past, in the whole past of the world there sounded
not one false note. All sorrow was sacred and harmonious, tending more
closely to the lofty end, which would be in its turn a beginning and
never anything but harmony. Resignation descended upon his mood like a
spirit of holiness; his strange calmness became resignation. It was as
though his nerves were relaxed in one great assuagement.

And his resignation contained only the sadness that never again would he
hear the high-pitched little commanding voice of the boy whom he had
loved, that this little life had run its course, so soon and for ever.
His resignation contained only the surprise that all this was ordered
thus and not as he had imagined it. He himself would have to wear the
crown which he had wished to relinquish to Berengar. And it now seemed
to him as though he himself were receiving it back from the dead boy's
hands. This no doubt was why he felt no touch of rebellion in his soul,
why he felt this peace, this sense of harmony. His gift was returning to
him as a legacy.

Long he stood thus, thinking, staring at his motionless little brother;
and his thoughts became simplified within him: he saw lying straight
before him the road which he should follow....

Then he heard his name:

"Othomar..."

He looked up and saw the empress at the door. She approached:

"Barzia was asking where you were," she whispered. "He was uneasy about
you...."

He smiled to her and shook his head to say no, that he was calm.

She came close, climbed the steps of the catafalque and leant against
his arm:

"How peaceful his little face is!" she murmured. "Oh, Othomar, I have
not yet given him my last kiss! And to-morrow he will no longer belong
to me: all those people will then be filing past."

"But now, mamma, he still belongs to us ... to you...."

"Othomar ..."

"Mamma ..."

"Shall I not have ... to lose you also?"

"No, mamma, not me.... I shall go on living ... for you...."

He embraced her; she loo