bringing my clothes and my maid; and in this period a flood of letters poured in upon me,

some of them shattering to the nerves and distressing, others ordinary and calm. I handed over to Perry and Herman the task of reading the letters and answering them. One Australian writer swore in a letter that he was coming from his country to kill me... His first letter was followed by a dozen more, all speaking in the same tone. Perry grew alarmed, for the writer of the letters was no ordinary man, but a man of culture and standing; and so we passed the letters on to Scotland Yard to look into the matter... I had to face the spite and hatred that poured down on me from every side, and the English and the Australians were harsher than all others in judging me and in attacking me.

The stream of letters, past all counting, went on until I nearly grew weary of my very existence; but Perry calmed me, saying: You must get used to all this, Wallis. Expect worse still — but take things firmly and calmly.

And I learned that the whole world was powerless to help me, and that I must learn to master events. I learned much from the pain I passed through, pain that smelted my whole being and existence... It happened one morning, as I was going through the letters as usual, that my eye fell on one whose handwriting seemed familiar; and when I opened it I found it was from Ernest Simpson. In it he wrote:

I could not write before today; I felt helpless before what things have come to, and I will say nothing beyond this — yet I want to believe that you were capable of preventing the final calamity. My thoughts were with you through all that happened.. Be assured that no one has felt the wound of your

affair as I have; and my thanks for the few tokens that keep me in touch with your present world...

And in another letter he said:

Can your life remain what it was? Can you settle into the new life and remember these things as though they were a dream gone by?.. No, my little one — that can never be..

With the disappearance of the jour-nalists, I could go out and stroll in the garden, and I sometimes went out with Katherine and Herman into the outskirts; Aunt Bessie visited me from day to day; as for Somerset Maugham, he invited me to spend Christmas at the villa at Cap Ferrat, and I received invitations, too, from friends in Italy and France...

It was as though I had been in a storm whose traces had melted away, and I remained alone, spending the hours of night and day staring into the emptiness and thinking of the future; and I pictured it happy, despite all the troubles surrounding me... At times my memory carried me back to the days I had spent with David at the castle, days during which I never thought of all that is happening now — on the contrary, I supposed they would stretch on without end; but here was the future revealing something quite different: David and I separated, each on his own island, suffering hardship and loneliness until the day we could meet — that is, after I obtained my divorce papers on the first of May.

I learned from David that he might come to France, for the Duke of Westminster had invited him to stay in the hunting lodge he owned in the province of Normandy; as for me, I had to remain away from him for a period of six months — that is, until I obtained the divorce paper. I bowed my head to the stern law, and waited.

Not a single day passed without

David telephoning me; those calls were the one means that made us feel we were still in the world of the living. He would call me at seven o'clock, and as it happened the telephone stood next to the dining room, so the servant would set the table and withdraw until I had finished my conversation.

David's condition was far more wretched than mine, for his relations had grown cold even with his brothers. His mother went on writing to him, but the first warmth had faded away; and I, for my part, would think, and rail against the royal systems that kill human nature and whatever freedom and release it knows, to replace them with traditions and rigid regula-tions... Even Queen Mary, who had loved her eldest son to the point of worship, shook out of the corners of her heart every trace of that love... and if her love remained, it was for the person he had been. As for me, she did not reckon that I existed in this world at all.

David lived in Austria in his soli-tude, behind the velvet curtain he had drawn between his own person and royal life. In his statement to the public he had announced that he would retire from public life and would not interfere in the affairs of government in matters great or small; and yet he remained the British man, ready to serve his country and his brother the hour that need should summon him to that service.