"_One day later_.

"The king has just sent me the following poem. I must apologize to him;
he seems to have understood my communication far better than I had
suspected. What do you think of the lines? Why should a king not write
verses? Ideality is required of him. Indeed a king should understand
all things, but be a dilettante in none.

"P. S.--I have just looked at the lines again, and find that I cannot
copy them for you."

"_A day later_.

"Don't laugh at my continually telling you of Walpurga.

"It was during our writing-lesson to-day, that the king found me with
her. He told me how much pleasure it had afforded him to be able to
pardon her relative.

"'Our relationship is very distant,' said she, 'nothing more than
forty-second cousins; and, Your Majesty, I've something on my mind. If
Red Thomas turns out badly, I can't help it.'

"The king laughed and replied: 'Nor can I.' It is hard to understand
how Walpurga never speaks of Zenza and her son except in anger, and
that she will have nothing to do with them. Strange demons jostle each
other in the hearts of the people. I fear that my office of spy on the
popular heart will prove very difficult.

"By the king's orders, I have been furnished with a copy of the church
prayers of the Greeks and Romans.

"I must write it down and then the idea will cease tormenting me. I am
constantly picturing to myself, how would it have been if Zenza had
become first lady of the bedchamber, and her son, the poacher, master
of the hounds. She would be ready enough of speech. She has exceedingly
clever and cunning eyes, and the lad would surely have been an elegant
cavalier.

"In spite of all their prating about human equality and pride of birth,
I cannot help regarding it as a sign of divine grace, that I was born a
countess, instead of Zenza's daughter; but there are two sides to that
question.

"God's creatures are not so badly off in this world, after all. The
frog croaking in the marsh is just as happy as the nightingale that
sings on the tree.

"To say to the frog, 'Thou, too, should'st dwell in the rosebush and
sing like the nightingale,' were not humane, but simply tyrannical.

"Have you ever patiently listened to the croaking of the frogs? How
expressive it is of comfort! While I write, they are having a grand
concert over in the park pond. I enjoy listening to the