the constitution destroyed
great and powerful personal influence, and required that he be simply
the vehicle of the spirit of the age, or the exponent of public
opinion. This was opposed to his own strong self-consciousness. He
distrusted every one who attempted to press him for an opinion or a
decision. He even distrusted Irma. Perhaps she did not know that she
was the instrument of a party; but she was, nevertheless. They had
found out that he held her in great esteem, and were now availing
themselves of Emma's entering the convent, to force him to a decision.
He would not submit to this. Irma should be made to know that he would
not allow another, even though it were his lovely friend, to lead him.
The olden time could never again return. They would find him a new
being; he would not permit female interference in state affairs.

It was these conflicting feelings of distrust and self-exaltation that
had induced the king to refrain from mentioning Irma's letter, and at
last to speak of it in the way he had.

While walking with the queen, the king still enjoyed his victory over
the women and, above all, over the one whom he had believed possessed
of so powerful a mind. He repeatedly spoke of Irma's petition in favor
of her friend, and of his determination not to be swayed by it. His
remarks betrayed a trace of ill-humor toward Irma. The queen was lavish
in her praise of the countess. The king smiled.

CHAPTER III.

"Don't let me wait any longer for your answer," said Bruno to his
sister; "are you ready?"

"I beg your pardon. What was it? I was so preoccupied that I didn't
hear you."

Bruno looked at his sister with an air of surprise. Irma had indeed not
heard him. She had been puzzling her brain in regard to the king's
behavior. He had plainly intimated that he would allow no one to
influence his course in state affairs. It now occurred to Irma that the
tone of the letter which she had written while at the convent, had been
quite improper, and her heart was filled with thanks to the great and
noble man, who, having it in his power to forgive her, had forgiven her
so gracefully. She felt doubly grateful to him for refusing to be
swayed by her ardent entreaties. She was, herself, in doubt as to the
best course, and it now seemed to her, as at first, that it was the
duty of the state to prevent the consummation of an irrevocable vow.

"I beg your pardon," she again said to he