dead Prince's curse. The effect was amazing: the Baron fell back in his chair and died on the spot."
Sigurd stopped writing. He became very serious and seemed to be thinking. Then he placed himself in the middle of the room and raised his voice in song. At first it was a bit timid and veiled; but it gradually grew in volume, finally becoming as powerful as though it were echoing back from the waves.—A contented smile passed over Sigurd's features. He drew a deep breath. He went to the writing-table again and added to his message:
"Dearest Kläre! Forgive me—everything is lovely again. I shall be with you in three days . . ."
MAJESTY WALKS IN THE GARDEN: SPAIN
All in black, among black cypresses,
All in black, white-faced as hoar-frost is,
With heavy scarlet lips, the king walks slowly
Down the hedged paths, bending his long cold face
Over the rosary trickling through his fingers.
All in black, moving so sombrely
Among the cypresses, with the small white Christ
In agony, between his cruel fingers—
All in black, pacing down gravelled walks,
His heavy scarlet lips ceaselessly moving,
The king awaits the hour of his appointment
With his new mistress,
Sombrely, slowly,
Marking the minutes by his trickling prayers,
His trickling prayers that focus on the cross
White as the body of his latest love.
All in black, between black cypresses,
All in black, the king awaits the hour.
