"That'll be rather funny," I remarked almost unconsciously, as I looked across to the Countess, smiling.
"I mean—you don't mind my saying?" asked Max; and when I nodded, he went on, "They'll point out that you're turning to our side the moment that the Prince is dead. Yes, it will make a good deal of talk; they'll call it the beginning of a new era."
"Perhaps they'll be right," said she in a low voice.
I rose to my feet. I recognised the truth in what Max said, and it seemed to add a touch of irony that the situation had lacked. Hammerfeldt himself, if he looked down from heaven (as Victoria picturesquely suggested), would be amused at the interpretation put on my action; it would suit his humour well to see the great sacrifice that I had made at the shrine of his teaching twisted into a repudiation of his views and a prompt defiance of the authority which he in life had exercised. His partisans would be furious with me, they would say I flouted his memory. That would be strange to hear when the figure of the Countess was still fresh before my eyes, and the sound of her sobs rang yet in my ears. I shrugged my shoulders.
"There are harder things to bear than a little abuse and a little gossip. I can't help it if they don't understand the grounds of my action."
"It's so soon after the Prince's death," said Max.
"The thing could not be delayed; it had to be done at once," said I.
I moved toward her to take my leave. She was standing close by her husband's side; her face was still in shadow.
"We shall have so much to do before we go," she said, "that we can hope to see very little more of your Majesty."
"Yes," broke in Max, "we must go down and arrange everything on the estate; we're going to be away for so long."