Reading was not a popular diversion at the court of Grunewald; and
that great, pleasant, sunshiny gallery of books and statues was, in
practice, Gotthold's private cabinet. On this particular Wednesday
morning, however, he had not been long about his manuscript when a
door opened and the Prince stepped into the apartment. The doctor
watched him as he drew near, receiving, from each of the embayed
windows in succession, a flush of morning sun; and Otto looked so
gay, and walked so airily, he was so well dressed and brushed and
frizzled, so point-device, and of such a sovereign elegance, that
the heart of his cousin the recluse was rather moved against him.
'Good-morning, Gotthold,' said Otto, dropping in a chair.
'Good-morning, Otto,' returned the librarian. 'You are an early
bird. Is this an accident, or do you begin reforming?'
'It is about time, I fancy,' answered the Prince.
'I cannot imagine,' said the Doctor. 'I am too sceptical to be an
ethical adviser; and as for good resolutions, I believed in them
when I was young. They are the colours of hope's rainbow.'
'If you come to think of it,' said Otto, 'I am not a popular
sovereign.' And with a look he changed his statement to a question.
'Popular? Well, there I would distinguish,' answered Gotthold,
leaning back and joining the tips of his fingers. 'There are
various kinds of popularity; the bookish, which is perfectly
impersonal, as unreal as the nightmare; the politician's, a mixed
variety; and yours, which is the most personal of all.
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