e authoritative party among the nobles.... But, as I say, I do not
wish to go into that too far and I am content to rejoice at your moral
convalescence. And I am very grateful to you for the advice you gave us
just now. It was quite simple, but we should never have thought of it by
ourselves. We are too conservative for that. I think now that what you
propose will be the best thing to be done and that it can't be done
otherwise...."

He held out his hand; Othomar grasped it.

"And," he continued with the great magnanimity which, for all his
despotic haughtiness, lay at the very root of his soul, "do not bear any
malice because of ... of the words I used to you, Othomar. I am violent
and passionate, as you know. I was fonder of Berengar than of you. But
you yourself loved the boy. Bear me no malice, for his sake.... You are
my son too and I love you, if only because of the fact that you are my
son and the last of my race.... Forgive my candour."

Then he pressed Othomar in his arms. It struck him painfully to feel the
frailty of the prince in his firm embrace, so immediately upon his
words: "the last of my race...." A strange, bitter despair shot through
his soul; yet he clearly divined the mystery of this frailty: an unknown
moral spring, which he himself lacked, in the direct simplicity of his
nature, but which, to his great surprise, he felt in his son. When the
prince was gone and Oscar, left alone, thought of this and sought that
spring in what he knew of his son, he did not find it, yet felt that,
whatever it might be, it was something to be envied, a strength tougher
than muscular strength. He looked about him; his eyes fell upon a
portrait of the empress on his writing-table. How often had he not
stared at it in irritation because of their successor, who was so wholly
her son! But, as though a gleam of light passed before his eyes, he now
looked at the delicate features without the old annoyance; and a
grateful warmth began to glow within him. Whatever it were, Othomar had
derived this mysterious strength from his mother. It saved him and
spared him for his country, for his race. And--who knew?--perhaps this
mystery was just the element which their race needed, a necessary
constituent of its new lease of life.... He did not seek to penetrate
any farther; the future--even though it was now emerging more clearly
out of its first dimness--had no attraction for him. He loved the past,
those iron centuries with thei