the great library, the princely apartments, the busy and
illuminated quarters of that great house, all faced the town. The garden
side was much older; and here it was almost dark; only a few windows
quietly lighted at various elevations. The great square tower rose,
thinning by stages like a telescope; and on the top of all the flag hung
motionless.

The garden, as it now lay in the dusk and glimmer of the starshine,
breathed of April violets. Under night's cavern arch the shrubs
obscurely bustled. Through the plotted terraces and down the marble
stairs the Prince rapidly descended, fleeing before uncomfortable
thoughts. But, alas! from these there is no city of refuge. And now,
when he was about midway of the descent, distant strains of music began
to fall upon his ear from the ball-room, where the court was dancing.
They reached him faint and broken, but they touched the keys of memory;
and through and above them Otto heard the ranting melody of the
wood-merchants' song. Mere blackness seized upon his mind. Here he was,
coming home; the wife was dancing, the husband had been playing a trick
upon a lackey; and meanwhile, all about them, they were a by-word to
their subjects. Such a prince, such a husband, such a man, as this Otto
had become! And he sped the faster onward.

Some way below he came unexpectedly upon a sentry; yet a little farther,
and he was challenged by a second; and as he crossed the bridge over the
fish-pond, an officer making the rounds stopped him once more. The
parade of watch was more than usual; but curiosity was dead in Otto's
mind, and he only chafed at the interruption. The porter of the back
postern admitted him, and started to behold him so disordered. Thence,
hasting by private stairs and passages, he came at length unseen to his
own chamber, tore off his clothes, and threw himself upon his bed in the
dark. The music of the ball-room still continued to a very lively
measure; and still, behind that, he heard in spirit the chorus of the
merchants clanking down the hill.

BOOK II--OF LOVE AND POLITICS

CHAPTER I--WHAT HAPPENED IN THE LIBRARY

At a quarter before six on the following morning Doctor Gotthold was
already at his desk in the library; and with a small cup of black coffee
at his elbow, and an eye occasionally wandering to the busts and the long
array of many-coloured books, was quietly reviewing the labours of the
day before. He was a man of about forty,