could not. She turned, blindly groping for the note. But
von Rosen, who had not forgotten to take the warrant from the Prince, had
remembered to recover her note from the Princess: von Rosen was an old
campaigner, whose most violent emotion aroused rather than clouded the
vigour of her reason.

The thought recalled to Seraphina the remembrance of the other
letter--Otto's. She rose and went speedily, her brain still wheeling,
and burst into the Prince's armoury. The old chamberlain was there in
waiting; and the sight of another face, prying (or so she felt) on her
distress, struck Seraphina into childish anger.

'Go!' she cried; and then, when the old man was already half-way to the
door, 'Stay!' she added. 'As soon as Baron Gondremark arrives, let him
attend me here.'

'It shall be so directed,' said the chamberlain.

'There was a letter . . . ' she began, and paused.

'Her Highness,' said the chamberlain, 'will, find a letter on the table.
I had received no orders, or her Highness had been spared this trouble.'

'No, no, no,' she cried. 'I thank you. I desire to be alone.'

And then, when he was gone, she leaped upon the letter. Her mind was
still obscured; like the moon upon a night of clouds and wind, her reason
shone and was darkened, and she read the words by flashes.

'Seraphina,' the Prince wrote, 'I will write no syllable of reproach.
I have seen your order, and I go. What else is left me? I have
wasted my love, and have no more. To say that I forgive you is not
needful; at least, we are now separate for ever; by your own act, you
free me from my willing bondage: I go free to prison. This is the
last that you will hear of me in love or anger. I have gone out of
your life; you may breathe easy; you have now rid yourself of the
husband who allowed you to desert him, of the Prince who gave you his
rights, and of the married lover who made it his pride to defend you
in your absence. How you have requited him, your own heart more
loudly tells you than my words. There is a day coming when your vain
dreams will roll away like clouds, and you will find yourself alone.
Then you will remember

OTTO.'

She read with a great horror on her mind; that day, of which he wrote,
was come. She was alone; she had been false, she had been cruel; remorse
rolled in upon her; and then with a