Finally, these things having been settled in the best way possible, it was resolved to hold the Coronation of the King at Westminster Abbey.
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‘Constance,’ he said holding her in his arms, ‘you believe that I have always loved you, do you not?’
‘I pray your Majesty,’ she said, humbly, ‘to forgive my errors of the past.’
‘My dear, what is there to forgive?’
‘Nay, now I know. There is the Perfect Woman; but she lives in the shadow of the Divine Man: she has her place in the Order of the World; but it is not the highest place. We reigned for a hundred years and more, and everything fell to pieces; you return, and all begins to advance again. It is as if the foot of woman destroyed the flowers which spring up beneath the foot of man. King, if I am to become your wife, I shall also become your most faithful subject.’
‘You are my Queen,’ he said; ‘together we will reign: it may be for the good of our people. We have little strength of ourselves, but we seek it—love——’
‘We seek it,’ she replied, lifting her eyes to Heaven, ‘of the Divine Man.’
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On the day of the Coronation, by Royal Order, all classes of the people were bidden to the ceremony; as many as could be admitted were invited to the Abbey. Along the line of march they had raised seats one above the other, covered with awnings. An innumerable crowd of people gathered at early morning, and took their places, waiting patiently for eleven, the hour of the procession.