than to forget self
and marry for the good of the thousands?"

"I have an obligation to myself."

"Who has filled you with so many childish ideas?"

"They have grown of themselves, sire."

The pacing up and down the room recommenced. "Child, have you no desire
to serve me? I mean, your country?"

She answered slowly, as if feeling for her words: "It is impossible that
I should be able to serve you through my dishonor. If I should marry
the crown prince, my life would be one long sleep, sire. I would not
dare awaken to the reality."

His head tilted and he laughed noiselessly. A weakness of the throat
prevented him from raising his voice even in times of the greatest
excitement.

"A soul that sleeps, eh? The kiss of love will awaken it?"

He surveyed her with brief disdain.

"My dear, you scorn titles, and yet as an untitled woman you are not a
match for the first red-faced tradesman's daughter. Stand up!"

She rose and he led her in front of a pier glass. Solemnly he studied
her pale image.

"A sleeping soul!" he repeated.

She covered her face.

"Will that bait catch the errant lover, Bertha?"

"God will make up the difference."

He cursed softly. She had not known he could be so moved.

"Poor child, let me talk with you."

He led her back to a chair almost with kindness and sat somewhat behind
her so that he need not meet her eyes.

"This love you wait for--it is not a full-grown god, dear girl, but a
blind child. Given a man and a woman and a certain propinquity, and
nature does the rest. We put a mask on nature and call it love, we name
an abstraction and call it God. Love! Love! Love! It is a pretty
disguise--no more. Do you understand?"

"I will not."

She listened to his quick breathing.

"Bertha, if I were to chain you with a ten-foot chain to the first man
off the streets and leave you alone with him for three days, what would
happen?"

Her hand closed on the arm of the chair. He rose and paced the room as
his idea grew.

"Your eyes would criticize him and your shame would fight in behalf of
your--soul? And the sight of your shame would keep the man in check. But
suppose the room were dark--suppose you could not see his face and
merely knew that a man was there--suppose _he_ could not see and merely
knew that a woman was there? What would happen? Would it be love? Pah!
Love is no more deified than hunger. If it is satisfied, it goes to
sleep; if it is satiated, it turns to loath