at Basel. Truly it is not good for man to be alone, even though he be
upon a throne. I am not upon a throne, Fräulein, but I am near one--a
small, barren throne, whose greatest attribute is its ancestry. My home
is a sad, lonely place--how lonely even you, who have guessed so
shrewdly and who speak so eloquently, cannot know. You should thank God
for your lowly birth and your lowly friends."

"I do," the girl answered, with a queer, half-sad, half-amused
expression upon her face which Max could not interpret.

"But we cannot break the chains that have been welded a thousand
years--that have grown stronger and tighter with each generation," said
Max. "You truthfully said, 'One may only endure.'"

"I also said that at rare moments one may hope," she answered, with
drooping head.

"Not I, Fräulein. I may not even hope. I am doomed," answered Max.

"No, no, Sir Max," responded the drooping head.

After a prolonged silence Max said, "I am sure the secret of my station
is safe with you."

"You need not doubt, Sir Max," she responded. "You cannot know how safe
it is." She turned brightly upon him and continued, "Let me invoke my
spirits, Sir Max." She raised her eyes, saint-fashion, toward heaven,
and spoke under her breath: "I hear the word 'hope,' Sir Max, 'hope.' It
is very faint, but better faint than not at all."