ved. It would have been much worse had Elsa really manifested an
absolute absorption in the tragic aspect. It was much better that her
thoughts should be filled by her great promotion.

I heard suddenly the sound of feet on the terrace. A moment later loud
cheers rang out. I looked down from the window. There was a throng of
the household, stable, and garden servants gathered in front of the
window of my mother's room. On the steps before the window stood Elsa's
slim graceful figure. The throng cheered; Elsa bowed, waved, and kissed
her hand to them. They cried out good wishes and called blessings on
her. Again she kissed her hand to them with pretty dignity. A pace
behind her on either side stood Princess Heinrich and Cousin Elizabeth.
Elsa held the central place, and her little head was erect and proud.

Poor dear child! The great promotion had begun.

CHAPTER XX.

AN INTERESTING PARALLEL.

I had a whimsical desire that somebody, no matter who, should speak the
truth about the affair. That I myself should was out of the question,
nor would candour be admissible from any of my family; even Victoria
could do no more than kiss me. Elsa did not know the truth; her
realization of it lay in the future--the future to me ever so present.
Varvilliers would not tell it; his sincerity owned always the limit of
politeness. I could not look to have my whim indulged; perhaps had there
seemed a chance of fulfilment I should have turned coward. Yet I do not
know; the love of truth has been a constant and strong passion in my
mind. Hence come my laborious trackings of it through mazes of moods and
feelings; painful trifling, I daresay. But my whim was accomplished; why
and under what motive's spur it is hard to guess.

I sent a message to the Chamber announcing my betrothal; a debate on the
answer to be returned followed. Here was a proper and solemn formality,
rich in coloured phrases and time-honoured pretence. No lie was allowed
place that could not prove its pedigree for five hundred years. Then
when Bederhof and the rest had prated, there rose (_O si audissem_) a
man with a pale-lined face, in which passion had almost destroyed
mirth, or at least compelled it to put on the servile dress of
bitterness, but with eyes bright still and a voice that rang through the
Chamber. Wetter was back, back from wounding me, back from his madness
of Coralie, back from his obscure wanderings and his reported
bank-breakings. Somewher