through the streets with the Marshal on my right and Sapt (who, as my
chief aide-de-camp, was entitled to the place) on my left. The city of
Strelsau is partly old and partly new. Spacious modern boulevards and
residential quarters surround and embrace the narrow, tortuous, and
picturesque streets of the original town. In the outer circles the upper
classes live; in the inner the shops are situated; and, behind their
prosperous fronts, lie hidden populous but wretched lanes and alleys,
filled with a poverty-stricken, turbulent, and (in large measure)
criminal class. These social and local divisions corresponded, as I knew
from Sapt's information, to another division more important to me. The
New Town was for the King; but to the Old Town Michael of Strelsau was a
hope, a hero, and a darling.

The scene was very brilliant as we passed along the Grand Boulevard and
on to the great square where the Royal Palace stood. Here I was in
the midst of my devoted adherents. Every house was hung with red and
bedecked with flags and mottoes. The streets were lined with raised
seats on each side, and I passed along, bowing this way and that, under
a shower of cheers, blessings, and waving handkerchiefs. The balconies
were full of gaily dressed ladies, who clapped their hands and curtsied
and threw their brightest glances at me. A torrent of red roses fell on
me; one bloom lodged in my horse's mane, and I took it and stuck it in
my coat. The Marshal smiled grimly. I had stolen some glances at his
face, but he was too impassive to show me whether his sympathies were
with me or not.

"The red rose for the Elphbergs, Marshal," said I gaily, and he nodded.

I have written "gaily," and a strange word it must seem. But the truth
is, that I was drunk with excitement. At that moment I believed--I