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Updated: June 9, 2025
Octavie decided, after making observations of her own, that the King was corresponding with his Minister. She laid her plans. With the help of a faithful friend, she arranged that a stormy debate should detain the Minister at the Chamber; then she contrived to secure a tete-a-tete, and to convince outraged Majesty of the fraud.
"What is his name?" he asked, a strange sense of annoyance creeping over him in spite of himself. "Herr Von Barwig," replied Hélène. "Oh, a nobleman," broke in the irrepressible Octavie, who read novels as well as the newspapers; "a German nobleman! It is a romance, isn't it? Is he a count, or a baron; or a prince, perhaps?"
At last Octavie discovered the cause of her decline; her power was threatened by the novelty and piquancy of a correspondence between the august scribe and the wife of his Keeper of the Seals. That excellent woman was believed to be incapable of writing a note; she was simply and solely godmother to the efforts of audacious ambition. Who could be hidden behind her petticoats?
The King's passion for pink-scented notes and a correspondence full of madrigals and sparkling wit was declared to be the last phase of the tender passion; love had reached the Doctrinaire stage; or had passed, in other words, from the concrete to the abstract. The correspondence was languishing. The more Octavie displayed her wit, the cooler grew the royal lover.
"Where were you?" asked his mother as he returned to his seat beside her in the stall. "In box 39," he replied. "Mr. Stanton's box?" she asked. "Yes," said Beverly. "I wanted to see Charlotte and Octavie." "And Miss Stanton?" added his mother. Beverly made no reply. "You were at her house yesterday," said Mrs. Cruger. "Yes." "Beverly, you must be careful! Your father objects to Miss Stanton."
You will see; there is so much demand for it, some one will rise to the occasion." "Splendid!" said Charlotte. "Won't that save lots of hard work!" "We'll write and make an appointment; Hélène will give us the address," said Octavie, as they said good-bye to Von Barwig. "Thank you so much, Herr Professor, for your patience and courtesy," said Mrs. Cruger at parting. Herr Von Barwig bowed.
"Yes, a charming necessity," echoed his wife, and, then she continued: "The fact that Octavie is engaged suggests a double wedding. They will marry in June, if the weather is good." "What has the weather to do with Octavie's wedding?" inquired Mr. Cruger. "Simply that it's an automobile wedding, Andrew," replied his wife. Mr. Cruger looked almost pained.
The profound and treacherous night with its silence and semblance of peace settled upon the camp. He dreamed that the fair Octavie brought him a letter. He had no chair to offer her and was pained and embarrassed at the condition of his garments. He was ashamed of the poor food which comprised the dinner at which he begged her to join them.
"Isn't there a method of learning how to play without practising?" broke in Octavie. "From nothing comes nothing," said Von Barwig with a sigh. "Quite true," assented Mrs. Cruger. "Some day," said Von Barwig prophetically, "some day they will invent a machine that will play itself. All you will have to do is to pump a bellows, or turn a wheel and the music will play itself!
The King's passion for pink-scented notes and a correspondence full of madrigals and sparkling wit was declared to be the last phase of the tender passion; love had reached the Doctrinaire stage; or had passed, in other words, from the concrete to the abstract. The correspondence was languishing. The more Octavie displayed her wit, the cooler grew the royal lover.
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