“My friend,—­For the last time I speak to you.  We have gone astray—­terribly.  The atonement is mine.  You belong to her and to the people.  Your atonement is in life; mine in death.  Be calm, be one with the law that ties you to her and to the people.  You have denied both and I have aided you.  Be true again to yourself!  This is my dying word, and I die willingly, if you but listen.  Listen to this voice, and do not forget it!  But forget her who speaks to you.  I will not be remembered.”

She sealed the letters, left them in her writing-case, and asked for her horse to be saddled.  She rode out, followed by a groom, whom, some distance from home, she sent back on some pretext.  When he was out of sight, she galloped off at full speed, dismounted, struck her horse with the whip to make it run away, and lost herself in the wood in the direction of the lake.

V.—­A Court Scandal

Irma’s torn boots were found on a rock by the lake, her hat floating on the waters.  Although her body could not be recovered, there was no doubt that the countess had committed suicide.  Her father’s death must have bereft her of reason.

When the news was first brought to the king he trembled violently, and had to seize the back of a chair for support.  Then he requested to be left alone, and with dim eyes he read Irma’s farewell message.  On the impulse of the moment, he wanted to send the queen the last words of his friend; he wanted to write under them, to pour out his whole heart, his whole repentance.  He decided not to act hastily.  Even the heaviest task must be fulfilled without loss of dignity.  A chase had been arranged for the morning.  The hunting-party were waiting in the courtyard.  With an effort he pulled himself together, descended with firm step, and entered his carriage, returning smilingly the salutations of his guests.

The queen was scarcely less shaken by the terrible news, which was gently broken to her by Dr. Gunther.  Her heart was filled with profound pity for the unfortunate child, and she gave vent to her grief in sobs and touching lamentations.  Dr. Gunther tried to comfort her.  “She is not gone without farewell.  She has left this letter for your majesty—­surely a letter that will bring balm in this terrible hour.  Even to the last she proved her loving nature.”

The queen seized the letter, read it, and turned deathly pale, then burning red.  When she found words, she exclaimed:  “And she has kissed my child, and he has kissed his child!  They talk of the sublime, and their words do not cut their tongues!  Everything is soiled!  And he dared say to me:  A prince has no private actions.  His doings and his neglects set the example!  Fie!  Everything is soiled, everything filthy!  Everything!”

She became unconscious.  Dr. Gunther sprinkled her forehead with eau-de-cologne, and had her taken to bed.  He sat by the bedside for some time, until she opened her eyes, thanked him, and expressed her desire to sleep.  He spoke some soothing words, and retired, leaving instructions with the lady of the bed-chamber in the ante-room.