ich he
wore the hereditary possessions of his house, were two aims worthy of the
hardest struggles, but, unless he deceived himself, he could not
hope to attain them. Thus life, until its end--perhaps wholly
unexpectedly--arrived within a brief season, offered him nothing save
suffering and sacrifice, disappointment, toil, and anxieties.

With little cheer or elevation of soul, he looked up and rang the bell.
Two chamberlains and Master Adrian appeared, and while Baron
Malfalconnet, who did not venture to jest in this spot, offered him his
arm and the valet the crutch, his confessor, Pedro de Soto, also entered
the black-draped room.

A single glance showed him that this time the quiet sojourn in the gloomy
apartment, instead of exerting an elevating and brightening influence,
had had a depressing and saddening effect upon the already clouded spirit
of his imperial penitent. In spite of the most zealous effort, he had not
succeeded in finding his way into the soul-life of this sovereign,
equally great in intellect and energy, but neither frank nor truthful,
yet, on the other hand, his penetration often succeeded in fathoming the
causes of the Emperor's moods.

With the quiet firmness which harmonized so perfectly with a personal
appearance that inspired confidence, the priest now frankly but
respectfully expressed what he thought he had observed.

True, he attributed the Emperor's deep despondency to totally different
causes, but he openly deplored the sorrowful agitation which the memories
of the beloved dead had awakened in his Majesty.

In natural, simple words, the learned man, skilled in the art of
language, represented to the imperial widower how little reason he had to
mourn his devout wife. He was rather justified in regarding her death
hour as the first of a happy birthday. For the sleeper whose dream here
on earth he, Charles, had beautified in so many ways, a happy waking had
long since followed in the land for which she had never ceased to yearn.
For him, the Emperor, Heaven still had great tasks in this world, and
many a victory awaited him. If his prayer was heard, and his Majesty
should decide to battle for the holiest cause, sorrowful anxieties would
vanish from his pathway as the mists of dawn scatter before the rising
sun. He well knew the gravity of the demands which every day imposed upon
his Majesty, but he could give him the assurance that nothing could be
more pleasing to Heaven than that he,