er. After some time, she sent for Doctor Gunther. He
appeared at once, for he had been waiting in the anteroom.

The queen found it a great relief to confide to him the thoughts that
so bewildered and confused her, but she could not force herself to say
that she still felt how the king loved her--that is, as far as his
wavering, restless nature would permit the existence of what might be
termed love. She confessed everything to Gunther, except that--she felt
ashamed that she could still associate the thought of love with that of
the king.

"Ah, my friend!" said she at last, in a sad tone, "is there no
chloroform for the soul, or for a part of it?--a few drops of Lethe?
Teach me to forget things, to blunt my sensibility; my thoughts will
kill me."

According to his usual practice, Gunther thought it best to produce an
entire change of tone, instead of attempting to patch and mend the
constitution at every fresh attack. He felt that, as soon as the queen
had learned to think and feel differently, his path would be clear.
Instead of offering to console her, he simply aided her in developing
her thoughts, while he revealed to her the causes that underlie all
human action. He treated the subject according to the great maxim of
the solitary philosopher who claimed that all human actions are
directed by the laws of nature. With those who have attained to a
proper conception and understanding of these laws, the idea of
forgiveness is out of the question. It may, indeed, be regarded as
included in the admission of necessity.

It was thus that Gunther endeavored, as it were, to clear away the
rubbish and the smoking ruins that were left after a fire. The fitful
flames would, however, still burst forth, here and there.

The queen complained that all seemed chaos to her, and even went so far
as to declare the desire to be virtuous as mere folly. The only comfort
that Gunther offered her, was that he also knew the utter wretchedness
of despair. He was not as one who, feeling himself secure from danger,
calls out to him who wrestles with the agony of death: "Come to me: it
is pleasant to be here." He was a companion of misery. He told her that
there had been a period when he had not only despaired of his heart,
and believed neither in cures nor in health, but had even lost all
faith in the wisdom that rules the universe.

He acted on the principle that the only way to treat the despondent is
to show them what others have suffe