ss silence in the great hall. At
last the queen exclaimed:

"Dead! Was it grief at her father's death?"

The doctor nodded affirmatively.

The flower-table which Irma had painted stood by the queen's side. The
queen looked at it for a long while. At last, completely forgetting
those about her--her gaze still fixed upon the table which, now that
she was weeping bitterly, was wet with her tears--she cried out, in
heart-rending accents:

"Oh, how beautiful she was; how radiant her eyes, how bright her
glance, how musical her voice! Her singing was like the warbling of the
lark! And all this beauty, all this love and goodness is no more! I
would love to see her, even in death. She must be beautiful, a very
image of peace. And you say that she died of grief at her father's
death; of a broken heart? Was it one great, convulsive throb of feeling
that broke her ardent, noble heart? Oh, my sister--for I loved her as
such--forgive me that even the shadow of doubt--Oh, my sister!--the
lovely flowers on this table were conjured up by your hand--And you are
faded, withered, decayed! You were lovelier than any flower! I can
still see your eye, as it followed every stroke of the pencil. You
meant to give me undying flowers, and as an undying flower you shall
dwell in my heart."

Her tears fell on the marble flower-table. A little dog came up to her
and she said:

"She decked you, too, with flowers. It was on my birthday. She sought
to adorn everything that met her eye. And you loved her, too, poor
Zephyr? every creature loved her, and now she's dead." She wept in
silence for some time.

"May I wear mourning for my friend?" she inquired, looking up at
Countess Brinkenstein.

"Your Majesty, it is not the custom for the queen to go into mourning
alone."

"Of course; we are not alone. No, never! All must mourn with us; there
must needs be a mourning livery."

She had spoken harshly, and now offered her hand to Countess
Brinkenstein, as if in apology, and inquired:

"When is she to be buried, and where? I should like to lay the most
beautiful garland upon her grave. I will go to her myself, and my tears
shall drop upon her pale face. So fair a life, and so sudden an end!
Can it be possible? I must go to her!"

Her eyes seemed fixed on vacancy, while she asked:

"Has the king gone hunting?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"He, too, will weep, for he loved her as if she were his sister. I know
it."

The look which Countess Bri