No man can be happy on a pinnacle above the intimate friendships of his fellow-man and--and woman." "Yes, 'and woman.' Well put, Max," said I.
Max did not notice my insinuation, but continued:-- "I have lived longer since knowing these lowly friends than in all the years of my life in Styria.

Karl, you have spoiled a good, stiff-jointed Hapsburg, but you have made a man.

If nothing more comes of this journey into the world than I have already had, I am your debtor for life.

What would my dear old father and mother say if they should see me and know the life I am leading?
In their eyes I should be disgraced--covered with shame." "When you go back to Hapsburg," I said, "you can again take up your old, petrified existence and eat your husks of daily adulation.

You will soon again find satisfaction in the bended knee, and will insist that those who approach you bow deferentially to your ancestors." "I shall, of course, return to Hapsburg," he said.