al
times in order to shake off the dust, and, at one sitting, read the
whole of "Emilia Galotti."

She did not fall asleep until near morning, and, when she awoke, hardly
knew where she was. The open book still lay before her; the lights had
gone out of themselves, for she had forgotten to put them out, and the
air in her apartment was close and almost stifling.

At about the same time that Irma awoke, bitter tears were being shed in
the theater. The intendant had assigned "Emilia Galotti" to a new cast,
had taken the _role_ of Emilia from the leading actress, who had looked
upon the part as hers in perpetuity, and had given it to a more
youthful performer. The _role_ of Claudia had been assigned to the
elder actress, who sat weeping behind a side-scene, exclaiming; "Pearls
mean tears, but tears do not mean pearls." The intendant, though
generally kind and amiable, was unrelenting.

But Baum was far more unhappy than the dissatisfied actress. For she
was still permitted to take part in the performance, while he, on
account of the mishap with the cup, was no longer allowed to remain
near their majesties. He deplored his misfortune to Walpurga, and she
begged the queen that Baum might again be restored to favor. On the
second evening, the queen inquired if the lackey Baum was ill. He was
saved. Full of gratitude, he went to Walpurga and said:

"I'll never forget you for this: you've served me for life."

"I'm glad I've been able, for once, to do you a favor."

"I'll repay you some time or other, depend upon it."

Baum hurriedly withdrew, for Irma entered the room. The king came in
soon afterward. He was about to speak French with Irma, but she begged
him not to do so, saying:

"Simplicity is very susceptible."

"And so-called good-nature," replied the king, "is often full of malice
and intrigue. Weakness all at once fancies itself obliged to be very
strong."

"We must be gentle for all that," replied Irma. Although they had
spoken German before Walpurga, she had not understood a word of what
they said.

"I admire the power of my spy," said the king, "and confess that I bow
to her, in all humility. I would never have believed such greatness
possible."

Irma nodded gently, and replied: "The hero is Hettore Gonzaga, but the
true Emilia Galotti loves him with a power which is worthy of him."

"And the true Hettore is neither dilettante nor weakling, and needs no
Marinelli."

The relation born of shame and p