ead and looked across at the doctor. His watch had a gold
front protecting the glass; he shut the front on the face with a click.

Very likely there were no proper materials for a picture here; the
sentiment, the historical interest, the situation would all have been
defective. Men die in so very much the same way, and in so very much the
same way men watch them dying. Death is the triumph of the physical. I
must not complain that the painter imported some sentiment.

In twenty minutes I was back again in my carriage, being driven home
rapidly. My dinner was ready and Baptiste in attendance. "Ah, he is
dead?" said Baptiste, as he fashioned my napkin into a more perfect
shape.

"Yes, Baptiste, he's dead," said I. "Bring me some slippers."

"Your Majesty will not dress?"

"A smoking jacket," said I.

While I ate my dinner Baptiste chattered about the Prince. There was a
kindly humanity in the man that gave a whimsical tenderness to what he
said.

"Ah, now, M. le Prince knew the world well. And where is he gone? Well,
at least he will not be disappointed! To die at eighty! It is only to go
to bed when one is tired. What use would there be in sitting up with
heavy eyes? That is to bore yourself and the company."

"Has the Princess expressed a wish to see me?" I asked.

"Certainly, sire, at your leisure. I said, 'But his Majesty must dine.'
The Princess is much upset it seems. She was greatly attached to the
Prince." He looked at me shrewdly. "She valued the Prince very highly,"
he added, as though in correction of his previous statement.

"I'll go directly I've done dinner. Send and say so."

I was not surprised that consternation reigned in the heart of my mother
and extended its sway to Victoria. Victoria was crying, Princess
Heinrich's eyes were dry, but her lips set in a despairing closeness.
Both invited me to kiss them.

"What will you do without him?" asked Victoria, dabbing her eyes.

"You have lost your best, your only guide," said my mother.

I told them what I had to tell about Hammerfeldt's death. Victoria broke
into compassionate comments, my mother listened in silence.

"Poor old Hammerfeldt!" I ended reflectively.

"Where were you when you got the news?" asked Victoria.

I looked at her. Then I answered quietly:

"I was calling on the Countess von Sempach. I lunched with Wetter and
went on there."

There was a pause. I believe that my candour was a surprise; perhaps it
seemed a defiance