life!"

The queen was about to throw herself on her knees before the king. He
touched her--she shuddered and drew herself up.

"Be proud!" exclaimed the king. "Be so! and bear the consequences! Be
the exalted one, the pure drop from the heavenly cloud mingling with
me, the dust of the highway--"

The queen looked up amazed. What was it she had heard? The words of her
noble friend thus repeated and distorted. Her head swam.

"Be what you will!" continued the king. "Be alone, and seek support in
yourself!"

He pulled at the betrothal ring on his finger. It was difficult to get
it off, and his face grew red while he pulled at it with all his
strength. At last, he drew it over his knuckle. Without saying a word,
he laid the ring on the table before the queen.

He walked to the door. He stopped for a moment, as if listening for a
word from her--a word to which he would have replied from the depths of
his heart, a word which would have saved and reconciled them both.

The queen looked after him. Would he not turn again? would he not once
more, with heart-piercing tone, cry: "Forgive me!" The love that still
dwelt in her impelled her toward him. It was but for a moment that
the king paused. Involuntarily, the queen stretched her arms toward
him--the moment had passed and, with it, the king had left.

The queen walked to the _portiere_, and stared fixedly at it. Then she
fell back on the sofa and wept. She lay there weeping for a long while.

CHAPTER XIX.

The queen was now doubly unhappy. She felt unutterable grief because of
her lost love, and had, moreover, suffered herself to be led away by
wicked and hateful passion. The sense of freedom and of elevation,
which Gunther had awakened in her, had vanished. And now that the
heart-rending separation had taken place, it seemed to her like a death
that had been foreseen. But, although we behold its approach from afar,
death ever brings new and unlooked-for woe in its train.

The queen went to the crown prince's apartments. On her way, she passed
by the king's cabinet. She paused for a moment, and asked herself how
it would be if she were to enter here, clasp him in her arms and say:
"Let all be forgotten; you are unhappy as well as I, and I will help
you to bear your lot."

She passed on, for she felt afraid lest she might again appear to him
as weak and wavering, while she meant to be strong.

When she saw her child, her eyes