The library at Doppelkinn was all the name implied. The cases were low
and ran around the room, and were filled with romance, history,
biography, and even poetry. The great circular reading-table was
littered with new books, periodicals and illustrated weeklies. Once
Doppelkinn had been threatened with a literary turn of mind, but a bad
vintage coming along at the same time had effected a permanent cure.
Max slid into a chair and took up a paper, turning the pages at
random.--What was the matter with the room? Certainly it was not
close, nor damp, nor chill. What was it? He let the paper fall to the
floor, and his eyes roved from one object to another.--Where had he
seen that Chinese mask before, and that great silver-faced clock?
Somehow, mysterious and strange as it seemed, all this was vaguely
familiar to him. Doubtless he had seen a picture of the room
somewhere. He rose and wandered about.
In one corner of the bookshelves stood a pile of boy's books and some
broken toys with the dust of ages upon them. He picked up a row of
painted soldiers, and balanced them thoughtfully on his hand. Then he
looked into one of the picture-books. It was a Santa Claus story; some
of the pictures were torn and some stuck together, a reminder of
sticky, candied hands. He gently replaced the book and the toys, and
stared absently into space. How long he stood that way he did not
recollect, but he was finally aroused by the sound of slamming doors
and new voices. He returned to his chair and waited for the
dénouement, which the marrow in his bones told him was about to
approach.
It seemed incredible that he, of all persons, should be plucked out of
the practical ways of men and thrust into the unreal fantasies of
romance. A hubbub in a restaurant, a headlong dash into a carriage
compartment, a long ride with a princess, and all within three short
hours! It was like some weird dream. And how the deuce would it end?
He gazed at the toys again.
And then the door opened and he was told to come out. The grand duke
had arrived.
"This will be the final round-up," he laughed quietly, his thought
whimsically traveling back to the great plains and the long rides under
the starry night.