speak of them. But, unable to restrain herself, she asked —
“Of what mistakes do you speak?”
“You mentioned them yourself, therefore you must know.” The doctor spoke with a laugh. “Why dwell on them?”
“No; tell me, doctor. I shall be grateful. And, please, no ceremony; I love to hear the truth.”
“I am not your judge, princess.”
“Not my judge? But from your tone it's certain you know something. What is it?”
“If you insist, I'll tell you. But I am a bad hand at explaining myself, and may be misunderstood. . . .”
The doctor thought a moment, and began —
“There were many mistakes, but the greatest, in my opinion, was the general spirit which . . . reigned on all your estates. You see, I cannot express myself. What I want to say is that it was not love, but aversion to men which showed itself in everything. On this aversion was built your whole life system — aversion to human voices, to faces, to heads, to steps . . . in one word, to all that constitutes a man. At your doors and staircases stood overfed, insolent, idle lackeys whose business it was to keep out any one badly dressed; in your hall were high-backed chairs so that the footmen at your balls and receptions should not stain the walls with the backs of their heads ; the rooms had thick carpets to deaden human
