One break comes every year in my quiet life. Then I go to Dresden, and
there I am met by my dear friend and companion, Fritz von Tarlenheim.
Last time, his pretty wife Helga came, and a lusty crowing baby with
her. And for a week Fritz and I are together, and I hear all of what
falls out in Strelsau; and in the evenings, as we walk and smoke
together, we talk of Sapt, and of the King, and often of young Rupert;
and, as the hours grow small, at last we speak of Flavia. For every year
Fritz carries with him to Dresden a little box; in it lies a red rose,
and round the stalk of the rose is a slip of paper with the words
written: "Rudolf--Flavia--always." And the like I send back by him. That
message, and the wearing of the rings, are all that now bind me and the
Queen of Ruritania. Far--nobler, as I hold her, for the act--she has
followed where her duty to her country and her House led her, and is the
wife of the King, uniting his subjects to him by the love they bear to
her, giving peace and quiet days to thousands by her self-sacrifice.
There are moments when I dare not think of it, but there are others when
I rise in spirit to where she ever dwells; then I can thank God that I
love the noblest lady in the world, the most gracious and beautiful, and
that there was nothing in my love that made her fall short in her high
duty.
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