chesses, a niece of the Czar, for his
daughter-in-law; but the difference in religion remained an
insurmountable obstacle; and the emperor, despite his preference, had no
objection to the Austrian alliance.

Perhaps Othomar and Valerie divined this intention, but the secret
caused no constraint between them; they were both so accustomed to
hearing the names of well-known princes or princesses connected with
theirs and even to seeing them mentioned in the papers: announcements of
betrothals which were immediately contradicted; they had even jested
together about the number of times that public opinion had married them
to this one or to that, each time to somebody else; sometimes even the
news came as a surprise to themselves, which they found in the
newspapers and laughed at. They paid no heed therefore to the rare
mischievous remarks of Prince Olaf or Prince Christofel, sturdy lads of
seventeen and fifteen, who thought it great fun to tease. And all this
time Queen Olga, so sensible and reasonable, brought not the least
influence to bear upon them. She had invited them together, but she did
nothing more. Perhaps she observed silently how they behaved towards
each other and wrote just one letter on the subject to her sister, but
she kept quite outside the meshes which were weaving between their two
crowned lives. Yet it was difficult for her to stand aloof. She was fond
of Valerie and thought that this marriage would be in every way good.
But added to that came urgent letters from Sigismundingen and even from
Vienna, where they wished for nothing more eagerly than to see the young
archduchess Duchess of Xara. For this, apart from the natural
inclination of the Austrian court to set store by a renewed alliance
with Liparia, there were other reasons of a more intimate character.

3

The sun had appeared through the clouds in the afternoon and made the
grey of the sky and the water turn blue with the hazy blueness of a
northern summer. The sea glowed and put on scales of gold; the
weather-beaten castle stood blistering its broad granite pile in the
sun, as an old man does his back. The striped canvas awning was lowered
on the top terrace, which led into the great hall through three glass
doors. Rugs lay scattered over the ground. Princess Sofie and the
Archduchess Valerie sat in great wickerwork chairs, painting in
water-colours. From the hall sounded, monotonously, the soft exercises
of Princess Elizabeth, the crown