mised
as much, but had not felt that she had a right to speak of it. She had
dropped a hint to Doctor Gunther, who had refused to have anything to
do with the matter.

The king expressed his dislike for Gunther, but Irma defended him with
great enthusiasm.

"The doctor is very fortunate," said the king, "to have so eloquent an
advocate in his absence."

"I am that to all friends whom I truly respect."

"I could wish that I, too, were accused," continued the king.

"And I believe," replied Irma, smiling, "Your Majesty could not wish
for a more earnest advocate than I would be."

A pause ensued. The king gracefully and frankly retracted his
complaints against Gunther, and this conversation seemed merely a
bridge over which they passed to another topic.

The king spoke of the queen and of her peculiar temperament.

It was the first time that the king and Irma had spoken of the queen.
That the king not only prompted, but actually called forth her remarks,
was the cause, at a later day, of incalculable suffering.

They extolled the poetic sense, the fervent feeling, the flower-like
tenderness of the queen, and while they thus depicted her in glowing
colors, they, in their own minds, found fault with her weakness and
overflowing enthusiasm.

When a husband thus speaks of his wife, to a third person, it
inevitably leads to estrangement and exposure.

Thus far, all was veiled in terms of praise. It was here just as it was
with the queen in church. With all the power of her will, she strove to
forget herself in her prayer, and to be again as she had once been; and
yet, while the sense of the words she uttered entered her soul, she
could not help being aware of a secret numbness and estrangement that
seemed to say to her: "You will never again be as you once were."

While the king and Irma were thus conversing, they appeared to each
other as equals. Their views of life were in accord, and while they
spoke of how easily one might yield to temptation, their intimacy
seemed to them a proof of strength rather than of weakness. They went
on in perfect step with each other, and Irma no longer said: "Let us
return."

The queen, since she had again appeared in society, was, if possible,
more gracious and amiable than she had ever been. She placed every one
far above her. They had none of them been as weak and vacillating as
she. She felt it her duty to do good to every one, because, although
she was no better than they,