ting-room and padded like a jewel-case--he sometimes
felt a wish to repulse this woman, for all that she loved him with her
strange soul and did not feign her love; he felt a wish to kick her, to
beat her. His temperament was not fit for so animal a passion. She
seemed to harry his nerves. She revolted him at times. And yet ... one
single word from him and she mastered her fierceness, sank down humbly
by his side, softly stroked his hand, his head; and he could not doubt
that she adored him, perhaps a little because he was the crown-prince,
but also greatly for himself.

And so April came; already it was almost summer; the King and Queen of
Syria were expected. They had been first to the sultan and afterwards to
the court of Athens. From Liparia they were to go on to the northern
states of Europe. On the day of their arrival, Lipara fluttered with
flags; the southern sun, already potent, rained down gold upon the white
city; the harbour rippled a brilliant blue. A hum of people--tanned
faces, many peasants from Thracyna still clad in their parti-coloured
national dress--swarmed and crowded upon the quays. On the azure of the
water, as on liquid metal, the ironclads, which were to welcome the king
and queen and serve as their escort, steamed out to the mouth of the
harbour. There, on the _Xaveria_, with their suite of admirals and
rear-admirals, were the two princes, Othomar and Berengar, and their
brother-in-law, the Archduke of Carinthia. Innumerable small boats
glided rapidly over the sea, like water-spiders.

A shot from Fort Wenceslas, tearing the vivid ether, announced the
moment at which the little fleet met the Syrian yacht and the oriental
potentates left her for the _Xaveria_. From the villas on the quays,
from the little boats full of sight-seers, every glass was directed
towards the blue horizon, tremulous with light, on which the ships were
still visibly shimmering. Half an hour later there rose, as though
coming from the Imperial, the cheers of the multitude, surging louder
and louder towards the harbour. Through the rows of the grenadiers, who
lined the streets from the palace to the pavilion where the august
visitors were to land, came the landaus, driven by postillions, in which
their majesties sat. These were followed by the carriages of the two
sisters, the Archduchess of Carinthia and Thera, and of the suite.

The fleet, with the Syrian yacht in its centre, had steamed back into
the harbour. Across