“The years went by.  The Queen journeyed to Egypt, to the mountains of the South, and the cities of the desert; to the Pillars of Hercules and to the islands of the West.  Wherever she went her fame spread like fire, and men fought and died for a glimpse of her marvellous beauty; and wherever she passed she left behind her strife and sorrow like a burning trail.  After many voyages she returned home and lived prosperously.  The King her husband died, her children grew up and married and bore children themselves, and she continued to live peacefully in her palace.  Her fame and her glory brought her neither joy nor sorrow, nor did she heed the spell that she cast on the hearts of men.

“One day a harp-player came to her palace and sang and played before her; he made music so ravishing and so sad that all who heard him wept save the Queen, who listened and smiled, listless and indifferent.  But her smile filled him with such a passion of wonder and worship that he resolved to rest no more until he had found her heart, for he knew the tale.  So he sought the whole world over in vain; and for years and years he roamed the world fruitlessly.  At last one day in a far country he found a little bird in a trap and he set it free, and in return the bird promised him that he should find the Queen’s heart.  All he had to do was to go home and to seek the Queen’s palace.  So the harper went home to the Queen’s palace, and when he reached it he found the Queen had grown old; her hair was grey and there were lines on her cheek.  But she smiled on him, and he knelt down before her, for he loved her more than ever, and to him she was as beautiful as ever she had been.  At that moment, for the first time in her life the Queen’s eyes filled with tears, for her heart had been given back to her.  And that is all the story.”

“And what happened to the harper?” asked one of the little boys.

“He lived in the palace and played to the Queen till he died.”

“And is the story true?” asked the other little boy.

“Yes,” said the old woman, “quite true.”

The boys jumped up and kissed the old woman, and the elder of them, growing pensive, said:—­

“Grandmother, were you ever young yourself?”

“Yes, my child,” said the old woman, smiling, “I was once young—­a very long time ago.”

She got up, for the twilight had come and it was almost dark.  She walked into the house, and as she rose she was neither bowed nor bent, but she trod the ground with a straightness which was not stiff but full of grace, and she moved royally like a goddess.  As she walked past the smoking flames the children noticed that large tears were welling from her eyes and trickling down her faded cheek.

DR. FAUST’S LAST DAY