flaxen-haired, with refined
features a little worn, and bright eyes somewhat faded. Early to bed and
early to rise, his life was devoted to two things: erudition and Rhine
wine. An ancient friendship existed latent between him and Otto; they
rarely met, but when they did it was to take up at once the thread of
their suspended intimacy. Gotthold, the virgin priest of knowledge, had
envied his cousin, for half a day, when he was married; he had never
envied him his throne.

Reading was not a popular diversion at the court of Grunewald; and that
great, pleasant, sunshiny gallery of books and statues was, in practice,
Gotthold's private cabinet. On this particular Wednesday morning,
however, he had not been long about his manuscript when a door opened and
the Prince stepped into the apartment. The doctor watched him as he drew
near, receiving, from each of the embayed windows in succession, a flush
of morning sun; and Otto looked so gay, and walked so airily, he was so
well dressed and brushed and frizzled, so point-device, and of such a
sovereign elegance, that the heart of his cousin the recluse was rather
moved against him.

'Good-morning, Gotthold,' said Otto, dropping in a chair.

'Good-morning, Otto,' returned the librarian. 'You are an early bird.
Is this an accident, or do you begin reforming?'

'It is about time, I fancy,' answered the Prince.

'I cannot imagine,' said the Doctor. 'I am too sceptical to be an
ethical adviser; and as for good resolutions, I believed in them when I
was young. They are the colours of hope's rainbow.'

'If you come to think of it,' said Otto, 'I am not a popular sovereign.'
And with a look he changed his statement to a question.

'Popular? Well, there I would distinguish,' answered Gotthold, leaning
back and joining the tips of his fingers. 'There are various kinds of
popularity; the bookish, which is perfectly impersonal, as unreal as the
nightmare; the politician's, a mixed variety; and yours, which is the
most personal of all. Women take to you; footmen adore you; it is as
natural to like you as to pat a dog; and were you a saw-miller you would
be the most popular citizen in Grunewald. As a prince--well, you are in
the wrong trade. It is perhaps philosophical to recognise it as you do.'

'Perhaps philosophical?' repeated Otto.

'Yes, perhaps. I would not be dogmatic,' answered Gotthold.

'Perhaps philosophical, and certainly not virtuous,' Otto resumed.

'