y-and-girl
matter. The lives of nations, perhaps, hung upon his decision. In a weak
moment he had promised Marishka an impossible thing. He did not know
what danger hung over him. If anything happened to him England might
never know until it was too late. The vision of Marishka's pale face
haunted him, but he decided to take no further chances, and locking
himself in his own rooms, he wrote a long statement, in which he
accurately recounted his experience in the garden the day before. This
letter written, sealed, addressed, and given to a trusted servant to be
delivered into the hands of the Ambassador at a given time, Renwick
breathed a sigh of relief, then bathed, dressed, and waited.

It was not until some days later that he heard in detail of Marishka's
visit to the Emperor. The High Chamberlain, aware of the visit of the
Countess Strahni to Konopisht, and convinced of her earnestness and
anxiety, had acted immediately. The Emperor fortunately was not ailing
and the audience was obtained without difficulty. Franz Joseph at
eighty-four, and burdened with more sorrows than those that fall to the
lot of the average man, still found interest in the complaints and
petitions of his subjects and had audience on certain days at
Schoenbrunn. It was this intimate touch with his people, kept through
many years, which endeared him to his subjects, and stories of his
paternal kindness were thus continually sent the length and breadth of
the nation.

Marishka was shown into an antechamber in the Emperor's private suite
where for what seemed an interminable time she sat and waited. At length
her sponsor appeared and conducted her along a short corridor past
several rooms to a white door which the Prince opened, and then stood
aside as Marishka entered.

"The Countess Strahni," he announced.

Marishka, a little bewildered and frightened, advanced uncertainly, her
eyes dazzled by the brilliant sunlight which streamed in at the south.
As she hesitated, a voice near the furthest window spoke reassuringly.

"Come in, child," it said. "I am here."

She advanced with trembling knees, aware of an old man in a military
blouse sitting in a large chair beyond a desk. The infirmities of age
and suffering had bowed his shoulders and to Marishka the Emperor seemed
smaller than when she had seen him last, smaller and very much older.
There was a stillness about his person, a quality of resignation and
quiescence that was almost statuesque