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be true to him if she lived, she determined to die.
She could do nothing else when her mother wished
her to be the wife of one who could not be a
servant of the king. She went to the window, opened
it, and let the cold, damp evening again envelop her
poor, feeble little body.
“It was easy for her to bring about her death.
It was certain she would have a relapse, and she did.
“No one but I knew that she had sought her
death. I found her at the window. I heard her
ravings in her fever. She liked me to remain by her
side during her last days.
“It was I who saw her die, who saw her, one
evening, stretch out her arms to the glowing west,
and die, smiling, as if she had seen some one step
out from the sunset radiance to meet her. I also was
to carry her last greeting to the man she had loved.
I was to ask him to forgive her that she could not
be his wife. The good king would not allow it.
“But I have not dared to tell the man he was
her murderer. I have not dared to lay the burden of
such sorrow upon him. And yet, he that lied and
won her love was he not her murderer? Was he not,
Elizabeth?”
Countess Dohna had long since ceased caressing
the blue anemones. Now she stood up, and the
bouquet fell to the ground.
“Anna, you are still mocking me. You say the
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