A Crown of Straw by Allen Upward — Read

WHEN Maximilian found himself outside the gates of the State prison, it was not with the light step of a captive released that he took his way to the palace. Once in his own apartments, which had been hastily got ready for him, he issued strict injunctions that no one should be admitted to his presence. If Herr Mark should come to the palace, he was to be requested to follow the King to Neustadt in the morning. These orders given, the young monarch locked the door on all his attendants and gave himself up to the flood of emotion which was surging within him. Without entertaining even the pretence of seeking slumber, he remained all night in his cabinet, seated in an attitude of gloomy dejection, or dragging his steps wearily and almost furtively up and down the room. Sometimes he came to a halt opposite the various pictures hanging upon the walls, most of them portraits of those of his ancestors who had worn the Franconian crown. Once, in a momentary transport, he tore down the picture of his wretched father, and seemed about to destroy it; but more sober thoughts came to his aid, and he reluctantly replaced it on the wall.

Thus the hours of the night passed, in miserable self-communing, and his face grew paler and more haggard, and the dark lines of exhaustion deepened themselves under his eyes, and his hair swept in disorder over his forehead; and he passed by degrees into a condition of listless apathy which ended in a brief spell of unrestful sleep.