dead, belittling all the living by the shadow of his name. I do
not believe that the king discerned that truth which his wife
spent her days in hiding from him; yet he was uneasy if Rudolf's
name were mentioned by Sapt or myself, and from the queen's mouth
he could not bear it. I have seen him fall into fits of passion
on the mere sound of it; for he lost control of himself on what
seemed slight provocation.

Moved by this disquieting jealousy, he sought continually to
exact from the queen proofs of love and care beyond what most
husbands can boast of, or, in my humble judgment, make good their
right to, always asking of her what in his heart he feared was
not hers to give. Much she did in pity and in duty; but in some
moments, being but human and herself a woman of high temper, she
failed; then the slight rebuff or involuntary coldness was
magnified by a sick man's fancy into great offence or studied
insult, and nothing that she could do would atone for it. Thus
they, who had never in truth come together, drifted yet further
apart; he was alone in his sickness and suspicion, she in her
sorrows and her memories. There was no child to bridge the gulf
between them, and although she was his queen and his wife, she
grew almost a stranger to him. So he seemed to will that it
should be.

Thus, worse than widowed, she lived for three years; and once
only in each year she sent three words to the man she loved, and
received from him three words in answer. Then her strength failed
her. A pitiful scene had occurred in which the king peevishly
upbraided her in regard to some trivial matter--the occasion
escapes my memory--speaking to her before others words that even