neglected to visit the crown prince's apartments, and when she again
went--she had dreaded Walpurga's questions--the nurse made no allusions
to the wedding or to her father.

Irma felt that Mademoiselle Kramer had informed Walpurga of the state
of affairs. She would gladly have placed matters before her in their
true light, but that were impracticable. The common people could only
understand simple relations, and an involved and complicated story,
such as hers, would pass Walpurga's comprehension. Irma forced herself
to appear the same to Walpurga as she had always been. The latter
observed this, although she said nothing about it. She, too, had become
strangely reserved.

Winter came in all its might. Walpurga could not go out into the open
air, but found pleasure in taking long walks with the crown prince,
inside the palace. A whole suite of apartments had been thrown open and
heated for this purpose.

"You may sing if you like," the doctor had said to her. But Walpurga
could not utter a sound in the grand saloons, for she was afraid of the
pictures of men in coats of mail, and of women with stiff ruffs or
bare-necks, who were looking down upon her.

"I know what I am going to say is very stupid, and you must promise not
to repeat it," said she, one day, in confidence to Irma.

"What is it? You can always tell me everything."

"It's very silly, I'm sure, but it seems to me as if those men and
women can't find rest in the other world and have got to be here all
the time and look on at what happens."

"That isn't at all stupid," said Irma, smiling. "But, pay attention,
Walpurga, to what I am about to tell you. To stand here, and feel that
your father, your great-grandfather, and others still further back, are
looking at you--that's what is meant by nobility. Thus, we are always
in the company of our ancestors."

"I understand; it's just the same as if, in your heart, you were always
saying a mass for the repose of their souls."

"That's it, exactly."

Irma thought of repeating this conversation to the queen. But, no; she
would tell it to the king. His was a truly poetic and exalted
conception of all things. Irma had accustomed herself to tell the king
all that happened to her. She spoke to him of all her thoughts, and of
every book that she read, and thus found all her experiences invested
with a twofold interest. He was so grateful, so appreciative, so happy,
and was, moreover, so burdened down with the car