He'll take the throne?" I cried triumphantly.
"No, no, no. Not the throne. He's going away."
"Going away!" I could not keep the dismay out of my voice.
"Yes, now. But not—not for ever. It will be long—oh, so long!—but I can bear it, if I know that at last"
She stopped, still looking up at me with eyes that implored pardon and sympathy.
"I don't understand," said I bluntly, and I fear gruffly also.
"You were right," she said: "I did persuade him. He wanted to go away again as he went before. Ought I to have let him? Yes, yes! But I couldn't. Fritz, hadn't I done enough? You don't know what I've endured. And I must endure more still. For he will go now, and the time will be very long. But at last we shall be together. There is pity in God; we shall be together at last."
"If he goes now, how can he come back?"
"He will not come back; I shall go to him. I shall give up the throne and go to him, some day, when I can be spared from here, when I've done my—my work."
I was aghast at this shattering of my vision, yet I could not be hard to her. I said nothing, but took her hand and pressed it.
