Was it not the same with me? I who had fancied that I understood her

better than any one else, could I understand her now, though I read the

lines she had addressed to me over and over again a hundred times. Why

if she would not belong to any one but me, why did she not fly to me,

or take refuge in a convent till I had found means to liberate her. Why

did not the boldest and most adventurous scheme appear natural and easy

to her, rather than resignation to the fate which was forced on her,

and to the bearing quietly those hateful fetters which death alone

could tear asunder.

Still there was something in those simple words which sustained me,

when I was on the point of despairing, and which silenced me when I was

on the point of giving vent to a burst of indignation or despondency. I

even slept a few hours, and could swallow a few morsels which my

faithful attendant had prepared for me. Not a word passed between us;

only when the hour of the wedding approached we had a violent dispute.

I insisted on attending it, and he opposed this to the utmost. At last

when he saw that my resolution was not to be shaken, he brought some of

his clothes and helped me to muffle myself up in them, and then pulled

an old torn straw-hat, which he generally wore in the garden, over my

eyes. I will accompany you Signor Amadeo, for I fear that you will lose

all command over yourself, and that you will require some one to

restrain you. He might have proved right had not the wedding guests,

and the bridal couple entered the church before we reached it, and the

crowd been so great that they stood pressed together, spreading over

the Piazza far beyond the church portal.

I bitterly reproached the old man for having deceived me with regard to

the hour, but he vehemently asserted his innocence, and his ignorance

of the hour.

So we waited amongst the crowd, and the sound of the bells, which were

ringing loudly, lulled me into my former state of dull torpor. Suddenly

the cry arose: "Here they come!" I should have sunk down had not Fabio

supported me. I kept myself up, so to speak, by fastening my eyes to

the church door, whence she was to issue forth. When she at last

appeared I was surprised that I could bear the sight, that it even

calmed me, although her husband was walking beside her. He was just the

man I had expected to see from Fabio's description. A creature I could

have felled to the ground at one blow. A smile hovered on his worn

features which made my blood boil. He nodded with a triumphant, and

lofty air to the people around him, and stroked the fair moustache on

his thin upper lip.

She passed through the crowd without looking up, the expression of her

face was inscrutable, and her eyes were veiled by her long lashes. A

child offered her a bunch of flowers; she took it into her arms, and

kissed it, and I could even perceive a smile on her lips. Had not the

distance been so great, and Fabio watching me I should have pushed my

way through the crowd, and asked her how she dared to smile on such a

day. But the smile had vanished while I was reflecting on it.

They got into their carriage, and drove off, followed by the parents of

the bride. The old General bending under the weight of his grief, at

the side of his proud young wife. Then came all the dignitaries of the

church who frequented the house.

"The Archbishop performed the ceremony," said an old woman beside me.

"She would not marry him at first, but they say that the holy father

himself urged her to it. Nothing more has been heard about that other

one, the Lutheran."--"Aye, aye," replied another woman; "it seems that

his sister has died, that is the just penalty for refusing to abjure

his heresy."--And so their foolish talk went on around me. Fabio

dragged me away, and led me by a bye path back to the villa. I let him

do as he pleased with me; all my strength had left me. I was as

unconscious of my actions as a man in a fever, or a sleep walker.

Even now, when I reflect on the past, I cannot understand how I bore

that day. My nature, generally so impetuous, appeared to be completely

subdued by the great bodily exhaustion caused by that hurried and

sleepless journey from Geneva, and I submitted unresistingly to these

horrible events.

When I reached the villa, I staggered blindly. Fabio forced me to

swallow several glasses of strong wine in such rapid succession that I

at last sank insensible to the ground.

When I recovered my senses, night had come on, and it was some time

before I could recollect where I was, and what had occurred. The clear

sky could be seen through the high panes of the glass door, and the

faint light of the new moon fell on the portrait of Beatrice's mother,

who I fancied looked sadly down at me from her place above the chimney.

Then only everything came back to my memory; then I remembered how

terrible was the significance of this night, and what future these

hours foreboded. Then a fearful agony overwhelmed me, and I was brought

to the verge of madness. I cried out aloud and the unearthly sound of

my voice as it echoed through the desolate house terrified me. I threw

myself down on the cold stone floor of the hall, and there I lay

writhing, pressing my face against the ground, and tearing my hair as

if bodily pain could stifle the despair which raged within me. Every

thought which sprung up in me, I willfully thrust back into the general

whirlpool which darkened and confused my mind. I would feel nothing,

think of nothing, but the terrible certainty that my heart's treasure

was now in another's possession; I could not cease from piercing my

heart with this thought, as though it were a poisoned dagger that would

make it bleed to death. At last worn out with this self destructive

frenzy I lay motionless in the dust. The cold stones of the floor

cooled my burning brow, and my tears ceased to flow. After some time, I

roused myself sufficiently to regain my tottering feet, and to crawl

into the garden. At the fountain underneath the evergreen oaks I washed

the tears and the dust from my face, and took a deep draught of the

tepid water, which nevertheless cooled my blood.

I now considered what remained for me to do, but could not come to any

resolution. One thing, however, I determined on. I would write to her

the next day, and implore her to end this dreadful uncertainty; to rend

asunder the last tie which bound me to her. Then I remembered the words

of her note, but of what avail were they now to me? Now that I had seen

her come out of the church, and that day, and part of the night had

passed without bringing me any comfort.

When I heard the clock strike midnight, and the moon disappeared I

could no longer bear the awful stillness of the garden, and I returned

to the hall. I lighted a candle and placed it on the mantlepiece; then

I drew a chair near it, took a small volume of Dante from my pocket,

and was soon deeply engaged in perusing the most gloomy and despairing

canto of his "Inferno."

I had remained thus about an hour, when suddenly I thought I heard the

key turned in the lock of the garden gate. My hair stood on end. I

fancied in the first moment of terror that my poor darling had

destroyed herself, and that her restless spirit now sought me to suck

my heart's blood; but the next moment I had shaken off these senseless

ideas, and regained my composure. I arose and listened attentively in

the stillness of the night.

The garden gate was opened. I heard steps on the gravel walk--some one

sought for the handle of the hall door; it opened and a youth in a

black cloak and hat appeared on the threshold. Suddenly the hat fell

back from the brow, and I recognized Beatrice. With a cry of joy we

rushed into each other's arms, and clung to one another as though we

could never be torn asunder nor our lips ever parted.

At last she disengaged herself from my embrace, and her tearful eyes

turned on me with a sad mute gaze. "How pale thou art!" she said; "and

this is all my doing. But now it is all at an end. I have kept my word.

Here I am your own wife, and never another's, though I should suffer

for it in this world, and in the next. Oh! Amadeo, why is this world so

full of wicked people; why do they sully the purest, and revile the

most sacred feelings! Why do they force us to lie, and to perjure

ourselves in the very sight of God. We must say _yes_, with our lips,

while our hearts say _no_. They have brought me to this, that I can

only choose between two sins: either to deliver myself up to a man whom

I despise, or to slink like a thief in the night to one who in the eyes

of the world can never be mine. But God metes with another measure than

these cruel and selfish people; is it not so, Amadeo? He cannot bid me

break my faith to you. He never meant our destruction. I imprisoned in

a convent, and you alone in the world, without love, or joy. He has

destined you for me, and me for you, and now I am yours for ever. That

other one dared not touch me. When we were left alone together, I said

to him: 'If you ever try to approach me, to-day or at any other time,

you will have been my murderer, for I have vowed before God not to

survive the hour in which you dare to claim your right on me. I told

you this before our marriage and you still insisted on its

accomplishment. You then carried the point, now it is my turn.'

"So I left him, and shut myself up in my room till I knew that every

one in the house was asleep. Nina then brought me this disguise, and

now I am here, Amadeo! The happiness of being yours would be too great

if I had not to strive and suffer for it."

She clung to my neck and hid her glowing face on my breast. All the

ardour and passion which she had repressed with maidenly pride, and had

not even betrayed by a look, now burst forth in a sudden flame, and

threatened to set my whirling brain on fire.

When we had at last recovered our power of thought, and speech, she

told me what had occurred after my departure; the intrigues of her

step-mother, the helpless efforts of her father to defend himself, and

his child, against the ascendency of the clergy; her useless attempts

to disarm and confound her enemy by the most unshaken sincerity. At

last, when she perceived that they would mercilessly separate her from

her father, and shut her up in a distant convent, from whence no letter

from her could reach me, she suddenly determined on apparent submission

to every thing for the sake of saving herself and me. "And, in fact,

they only desired an outward victory. What do they care whether my soul

is lost or not," she continued. "Did they ever blame the woman who

bears my poor father's name for indulging all her passions freely? They

are all of them the slaves of appearances, and they cannot bear to look

truth in the face, for it would put them to confusion. Oh! Amadeo, how

often did I form the resolution to fly to you, and then declare openly

that I am your wife, and shall be so to eternity. But you do not know

how powerful they are. Even if we started this very moment, and

travelled day and night they would overtake us, and that would be

certain death to you. Then my poor dear father also, he would not

survive the separation, and such a one, from me. But do not grieve my

love, we are now united and those who know our secret are faithful.

Pardon me, for not telling you of my coming in my note of this morning,

but I knew not for certain whether I should be able to accomplish my

plan, or whether that wretch might not strike me to the ground on my

refusal to acknowledge him as my master. And if I then had staid away,

should you not have suffered greater tortures than in this uncertainty?

You knew that I had pledged myself to you, and that I would keep my

word; that I would be faithful to you, and never belong to any man but

you.--I will return to you every night. The porter who is an honest

fellow, hates his present master, but would have died for you."

She noticed that in spite of my happiness; my wife sitting on my knee,

that I was silent and thoughtful. "Why are you so sad?" she asked.

"That we must obtain by fraud what is ours by right," I replied. "That

we must hide in darkness, and mystery as if we committed a crime in

keeping our vows!"

"Do not think of that," she said, and passed her hand across my

forehead. "The future is unknown to us; we are only certain of the

present hour, and of our own hearts. Why should we not thank God for

it. He surely knows that it is best so. Come now; I am not going to sit

here as your lady love with my hands folded, and leave it to others to

minister to you. You must be half famished, and I too am hungry. I have

tasted nothing since last night. I remember perfectly where Fabio keeps

his provisions. I will go and prepare a wedding feast which will be

more joyful than the last one was, where I saw that every drop of wine

was turned to gall for my poor father."

She rose, and hastened to the cellar, and larder. In the meantime I

pushed a small table into the middle of the room, and lighted up all

the bits of candle which remained in the dusty chandeliers. When she

returned with the plates and glasses, she stopped on the threshold with

a joyful exclamation. Then she laid the table and filled the glasses

with her own hands from the heavy wicker bottle. "Come," she said, "let

us drink to our future happiness, if your sister were but here I should

desire no other wedding banquet." After drinking this toast, she waited

on me, helping me to the cold meat and olives, persuading me to eat,

and doing the honours like a good little housewife. To please her I

swallowed some morsels though I felt no hunger. She too would hardly

take anything till I began to feed her like a child holding the

choicest morsels to her lips, then she laughingly opened them and

complied with my request.

"Now I have had enough," she said, rising. "I must provide a better

couch for you than these cushions on the floor. Fabio never thinks

about such things. An old soldier like him hardly perceives whether he

is lying on the bare ground or on a feather-bed. To be sure the wisest

thing for you will be to take possession of my little room upstairs,

instead of remaining here where any body can look in, and betray you."

She took my arm and conducted me thither after we had put out all the

lights. As we passed Fabio's closet, I stopped to listen if he moved.

"Don't mind him," she whispered; "he knows that I am here. A short

while ago, when I fetched the wine, I met him coming from the garden,

where he had plucked the fruit for our wedding feast. He was nearly

beside himself with joy on seeing me; he wept, and kissed my hands. Now

he does not appear, for fear of disturbing us."

The day had not dawned when she reminded me that we must part. I

insisted on accompanying her back to town, and when she saw the

disguise in which I had ventured out the day before, she consented. She

pulled her broad brimmed hat over her eyes and I wrapped her up in her

large cloak. We then left the house, and proceeded in the direction of

the town. We met not a soul--no lights burned either in the houses or

in the streets--the morning star sparkled alone in the pale azure of

the sky. A cool breeze came from the North. We hardly spoke a word

during our walk. My heart was oppressed, and she too when the moment of

separation approached, seemed to feel, for the first time, how

unnatural was our position. When we reached the house, she clasped me

in her arms with tears in her eyes and held me so for a while before

giving the appointed signal to the porter. "Expect me to-morrow," she

whispered, and disengaging herself from my neck she glided through the

half open door, and I was once more alone in the darkness.

A bitter feeling came over me. So I had to resign her again, my own, my

bride, who had vowed to belong to no one but me; to leave her at the

threshold of a stranger's house, whose door was for ever closed to me.

Here I had to stand at the entrance, and if the master of the house

appeared, should have to hide in a corner, as a thief from the bailiff.

What would be the end of it? Would a life of so full of bye ways and

mysteries be endurable. Can that be called happiness which can only be

obtained at the price of daily torment, and anxiety?

Before I reached the villa I had firmly resolved to put an end to this

insufferable position. From that moment I felt easy at heart, and as I

walked along the deserted road, could fully rejoice in the unalloyed

happiness which had been granted me, and I considered in its minutest

details how the plan which was to unite us for ever was to be

accomplished.

In the garden of the villa I found the old man at work. I apprized him

of my scheme, and though he thought the execution of it would be more

difficult than I expected, he willingly agreed to do all I asked of

him, and this was no slight sacrifice at his age, the more so that he

would have to part with his daughter. But where Bicetta's happiness was

concerned, he had no will of his own.

We both spent the day in preparations. More than once, while taking our

measures, I had occasion to admire the circumspection, and the

foresight of the old soldier. During the afternoon I slept, and at ten

o'clock at night, I was stationed at the gate of the town through which

she had to come. We had not settled that I was to meet her, so when I

stepped out of my lurking place, she started back but instantly

recognizing me as I pushed back my hat she gave me her still trembling

hand, from underneath her cloak. So we walked along gazing at each

other in silence, for we met several tardy wayfarers who were returning

to the town, and feared to awaken their suspicion should they hear a

soft woman's voice underneath that broad brimmed hat only when we had

reached the villa, and its comfortable hall where lights were burning,

and a rustic meal had been prepared for us by Fabio, she again talked

freely. She told me how she had passed the day, how long and dreary it

had appeared to her. Richino had treated her with a rigid coldness,

hoping to mortify her by it, and to force her to make some advances,

but before the world, her parents and their numberless visitors, he had

assumed the manners of a happy young husband. In the evening however,

he had bowed to her without a word, and had withdrawn to his apartment.

"This cannot last," I suddenly said, after a long silence; "It is as

unworthy of you, as it is of me. We must put an end to it. Your

decision alone is wanting. Mine is already formed."

"Amadeo!" she exclaimed, and her eyes turned towards me with a

wondering look. "What can you mean? Separation! Oh death rather than

that!"

"No," I replied, "fear not; I do not demand what is impossible to me as

well as to you. Leave thee my wife, my second self, truly that would be

death! But our present existence, is it not worse than death? A life

which must in time, kill the soul's freedom and dignity, and will

sooner or later cause our ruin. But even if it did succeed, which is

most improbable, if I could remain here concealed year after year, in

what a wretched state should I not drag through the weary days; idle

and solitary cut off from all society but yours; condemned to an

aimless, useless life, consumed by the torture of an obscure, and

worthless existence. But even if, in more favourable circumstances, I

could openly come to your house as your declared lover I would not do

it; I could not brook this state of ambiguity and falsehood. I must be

able to acknowledge my feelings, and openly take possession of what is

mine. Do you now understand me my darling?"

She nodded, and her eyes were pensively fixed on the ground.--"I know

how painful it will be for you," I continued, and took her cold and

lifeless hand in mine, "You feel that you must leave your father,

perhaps for ever, if he cannot summon courage enough to follow us; You

must leave your country, and all that is dear to you, and has taken

root in your heart from childhood upwards. You can no longer kneel in

the church on the same spot where your mother once prayed--You dread

the strange country all the more, that you will have to enter it as a

fugitive, and not with the rejoicings and honours due to a bride. You

imagine that you would not dare to lift up your eyes to those who love

you. Is it not so Beatrice?"

She again nodded; then she looked up to me and said, "I will bear all

if it can make you happy."

"My own love," I resumed clasping her in my arms; "You have full

confidence in me, have you not? You believe that I have carefully

considered what I owe to you, and to myself, and that I would not

shrink from any sacrifice so long as my honour is not concerned, and

that it does not lower me in your eyes. There is but one way of escape

possible from all the snares and fetters which our enemies have thrown

around us. You said truly that flight with the swiftest horses would

not save us: no, we must set about it with more caution, if we do not

wish to be overtaken. I have spoken to Fabio, he knows all the ways to

Ancona as thoroughly as he knows this garden. He will be our guide. We

shall travel on foot, dressed as peasants and only at night, once

there, we shall embark for Venice. Fabio too leaves all that is dear

and valuable to him, only for our sakes, in order that he may assist us

to recover our freedom and happiness. Are you courageous enough

Beatrice? Do you feel strong enough to undertake this journey at your

husband's side?"

"I will follow you all over the world," she said, and pressed my hand;

"You shall have no cause to complain; I can do all you expect of me."

I embraced her with great emotion. "Come, then, I said; let us take

some food to strengthen us for the journey."

"To-night Amadeo? I implore you with all my heart, ask anything of me,

but that I should leave this without once more seeing my poor father,

without the sacred memorials of my mother which I keep at home. I

promise you that nothing shall alter my resolution, not a tear shall

betray me, when I kiss my father for the last time. I feel that without

that, without bidding him at least a mute farewell I should find no

rest, and the longing for home would kill me. As yet, we risk nothing.

No one knows that you are here, no one sees me coming, or going. I

shall not even acquaint Nina with our plan. To-morrow evening when I

leave my home, it shall be for ever; that I promise you. Grant me only

these few hours, and then, I shall be as entirely yours, as if I had

fallen from heaven into your arms, and had no other home than your

heart." She looked at me with an imploring expression which I could not

resist, although I felt uneasy at the slightest delay. I gave way to

her entreaties, and her gaiety then returned, and soon banished every

care from my mind. We supped together; Fabio waited on us, and not a

word more was said of our project. I then sent Fabio to his bed, and

brought in the dessert myself, and a bottle of sweet wine which she

liked to drink only a thimble full of, at a time, but even a few drops

of it sufficed to give her pale cheeks a rosy tint. Who could have,

seen us, joyous as we were together, and have believed that we had

obtained these brief hours of happiness by stealth, and were enjoying

them clandestinely.

She then drew me into the garden. "Let me bid farewell to all my

friends, to the pomegranate, the orange trees, the fountain. To-morrow

there will not be time for it." We walked arm in arm into the garden.

She drank once more from the marble fountain, put a few oranges

in her pocket, and plucked a spray from the pomegranate. "These

must go with me," she observed, "in your home in the north, these

things do not grow. I shall soon learn to do without them. And this

shuttlecock,"--she picked it up as she saw it lying forgotten in the

grass, "I will not leave behind. Our children," she whispered, and drew

close to me, "shall play with it, and you will tell them how you

exchanged your heart for one of these feathery balls."

We had now reached the place where I had once looked over the wall.

There underneath the spreading branches of the trees, the sward had

remained fresh, and soft, and the air was pure, and free from dust.

"Let us pass the remainder of the night here," I said, "I will bring

some cushions from the house." I returned and brought a few, and also a

cloak for Beatrice. She wrapped herself up in it and soon slept calmly,

but it was long before I could find repose. I listened to her gentle

breathing, and gazed at her sweet face, with the closed eyes up-turned

to the grey sky. She murmured some indistinct words in a dream. I could

not understand them, but their soft tone still lingers in my ear.

At last I too slept; I know not for how many hours. When I awoke, the

day had not yet dawned, but she was gone. A sudden fear seized me, why

had she left me? I jumped up to ascertain whether Fabio, at least, had

accompanied her. Hardly had I taken a few steps, when I heard the bell

at the garden gate pulled violently. In that moment a fearful

foreboding came over me, and forgetting all prudence, I dashed across

the garden, and round the house towards the gate. Nevertheless old

Fabio had reached it before me, and when I turned the corner, I saw him

trying to lift up a dark figure which had sunk down at the entrance of

the garden.

"Beatrice!" I cried and rushed to the spot. When I reached it, she just

opened her eyes again, and supported by Fabio, she turned towards me

with a look of intense anguish and despair, but directly she tried to

smile again. "It is nothing Amadeo," she gasped out with a great

effort, her hand pressed to her heart. "Do not be alarmed, I do not

feel much pain. Are you vexed that I left, without awaking you? You

slept so quietly, and I thought there was no danger. How could he have

discovered that you were concealed here? Yes to be sure, I forgot to

tell you what Richino said to me yesterday at table; he spoke in French

to prevent the people from understanding him: 'Do you believe in

ghosts, Madame? If such things exist, they are welcome to roam about,

but if living creatures take it into their heads to play the

_revenants_, upon my honour, I will take good care that they are soon

turned into real phantoms.'

"I fancied that these were only idle words. Alas, Amadeo, now I cannot

travel with you; you will have to go alone, and in this very hour.

Those two who were on the watch outside the garden gate; certainly

expected you to pass. They called to me when I was ten paces distant

from the gate, and asked for my name. I gave no answer, so they did

what had been ordered them. They did not succeed however; see I can

still walk and even speak. Leave me here and do not be uneasy on my

account. I shall not die. When I hear that you are in safety then I

will follow you. Go my darling husband--before the break of day--Give

me your hand--kiss me."

Her voice grew faint; her knees could no longer support her. We carried

her, insensible, into the hall, and laid her on a low couch. When we

pushed back her cloak, and opened her coat, the blood streamed over our

hands. I bent over her; she heaved a deep sigh, looked at me once

again, and sunk back to rise no more.

Let me pass over that morning in silence.

When the sun shone through the glass door, it found me still kneeling

beside her couch, and gazing on her pale face. Old Fabio crouched in a

corner, and sobbed.

Suddenly we heard her name called from without. Nina rushed in, and

with a loud cry, threw herself on the corpse. By her demeanour it

seemed as if she had been struck a deadly blow. Then in the midst of

her convulsive sorrow, she roused herself, and turning me she said,

"You must escape; I hastened hither to caution you and Beatrice. A

short while ago Richino entered her bedroom and sought her. I know now

for what reason; it was to tell her that the man she loved was dead. He

hardly expected it to end as it has done. When he perceived that she

was not in her room, he turned pale as death, and went away. But

believe me, he will come to seek her here, and if he finds those

dreadful marks on the path--listen! I hear footsteps approaching--they

are his. Fly! they forebode death to you." I replied not, but rose and

stood by the couch of my dead wife.

The door opened and he entered....

Whatever he had meant to say, the sight before him turned him to stone.

He staggered back, and clung to the door post for support. His

cadaverous face was distorted by helpless horror. I saw that he

struggled in vain for breath.

"What do you seek here?" I said at last. "You hoped to find me lying

covered with blood; your servants did your bidding promptly, but

unfortunately they mistook the person. So you are disappointed of your

malignant pleasure. You could not crown your deed by awakening this

unhappy woman, of whose heart not a particle was yours, with the

tidings that her lover was dead, and would never return. What hinders

me," I continued, approaching him, and clenching my hands with rage,

and maddening pain. "What hinders me from crushing you beneath my feet,

and casting you out of the house, so that you should no longer pollute

with your breath this sacred dwelling of the dead. If you had loved

her, miserable scoundrel, if you could extenuate your deed by a human

passion--but you would have taken possession of her, you would have

abased this noble soul to your own level, only for the sake of

gratifying your low desires, and because you were incited by others.

Go, I say, hide your face in eternal darkness. Assassin! I swear that

if you dare to stretch out your hand towards the dead, or cast your

eyes on her once again, I will tear you to pieces with my own hands!

Away with you!"--

In the midst of this outburst of my fury, I was silenced by the

expression of his face, on which an expression of intense pain

appeared. It seemed as if the ground reeled underneath him, as if it

were going to burst asunder and devour him. He did not look at any one;

he tried to raise his head, but sank down on the threshold completely

overcome and remained so for several minutes. I had to avert a sort of

pity, which I should have deemed a crime. When I had regained

sufficient composure to say a few last words to him, I saw him totter

like a drunken man towards the gate, and leave the garden.

I then allowed Nina to take off Beatrice's man's clothes, and to dress

her in the same white gown in which I had first seen her. There she lay

smiling peacefully amongst the flowers which her faithful attendant had

brought from the garden and the conservatory, and so she remained

during the day. Nina had just concluded this last act of friendship,

when we heard a carriage approach the gate. Her father sat in it, pale,

and with an insane smile hovering on his withered lips. Fabio, with

scalding tears, assisted him to leave the carriage, and led him into

the hall. When he saw his child surrounded by the apparel of death he

dropped silently on his knees, and pressed his forehead on her folded

hands. When at last we tried to raise him, we found that a paralysis of

the heart had compassionately united him to his darling.

In the following night we buried them both. No one was present but

Fabio, and Nina. Don Vigilio pronounced the benediction on the dead. He

told me afterwards that Richino had appointed it so, and had given

orders that all my requests were to be complied with as if I were

master of the house. He had received no visitors, and after a violent

scene with his mother-in-law, had on the same day left Bologna for

Rome.

The widow of the General entered a convent for the time of her

mourning. I for my part when the earth had closed over the two coffins,

took horse, and before the day had dawned was on my way to Florence.

A year after, I read in the papers that the widow of the General had

married the young count, her faithful admirer. But though I often

returned to Bologna to visit the grave of my wife I never saw either of

them again.

BEGINNING, AND END.

BEGINNING, AND END.

In the deep bay window of an otherwise brilliantly lighted saloon, a

single candle, supported by the arms of a winged figure in chased

silver, shed its faint lustre.

This soft shade was increased by broad-leaved plants, the last blossoms

of the season, and by a slender palm-tree whose delicate branches

arched gracefully above the entrance of this dusky bower. Two chairs

stood beside each other in the background, inviting to repose, but only

one of them was occupied.

The slender figure of a young woman reclined in it, her head supported

by her arm. Those who suspected her of retiring from the gay company to

this verdant hiding-place in order to attract attention or cause a

search to be made for her wronged her. She thought not of the effect

produced by the delicate half shade of the palm-tree on her pure white

brow, nor of the soft moonshine-like reflex of the candlelight on the

shining waves of her dark hair. Neither did she take advantage of the

solitude around her, whilst a girlish voice was heard singing to the

piano at the further end of the room, to indulge in those reveries

which in the summer time of life so often take their abode underneath

the closed eyelids. In a word, she slumbered. The music to which she

had at first dreamily listened, had at last lulled her to sleep like a

tired child. She did not even awake when the song being ended, the old

gentlemen around applauded encouragingly, the piano stool was pushed

back, and the hum of the interrupted conversation again sounded through

the saloon with renewed vivacity.

No one came to disturb her; she was a stranger in this society, and

besides there was a certain expression of grave reserve in her

countenance which did not encourage new acquaintances.

It was her fate to be considered proud. She knew it, but the little

effort she made to dispel this error arose more from indifference than

contempt. A familiar voice which addressed her by her name at last

aroused her. She opened her eyes in some confusion and saw the master

of the house standing before her, and by his side a stranger whose

forehead reached up to the branches of the palm-tree.

"Allow me to interrupt your meditation, Madam," said the host with a

smile. "I here present to you my friend, and cousin Valentine, who only

returned to Germany a few weeks ago, and a few hours since became my

guest. We must now try to retain him, and who could undertake this task

with more success than our fair country women."

He had long left them and, still they remained opposite each other

without a word of greeting. His eyes were fixed on the red rose which

adorned her hair, and only a slight movement among the palm leaves

betrayed that the blood rushed vehemently through his veins.

The lady's face was raised towards him with an earnest expression, as

if she were trying to solve a problem. Was the veil which sleep had

thrown over her eyes, not yet removed? Was this meeting only the vision

of a dream. But no, could a dream have the power of changing, as time

had done, the well known features before her; of thinning the curly

hair, and of drawing those lines above the eye-brows which she had

noticed at the first glance?

The longer he delayed in addressing her, the deeper grew the blush that

suffused her cheek. Several times her lips parted as if to speak, but

still she remained silent, and fixed her eyes on the ground. Her fan

slid on the carpet. He did not pick it up.

At last he said, "Madam Eugenie, permit me to call you so, for I have

just arrived here and have omitted to ask our host for your husband's

name; how strangely we meet in this life. I am truly astonished at my

want of presentiment which never foretold me by a sign from heaven or

from earth that I should find you here."

"A special motive caused me to undertake this journey," she hastily

said. "I intend to put my son to school and I am told that there is one

here in which he will be well taken care of. I arrived to-day after

having spent a sleepless night in the carriage, and I must confess to

you that just as you came up, weak human nature, against all good

breeding, was on the point of making up for lost time. I tell you this

because the cool, and absent way in which I received you must have

seemed strange to so old a friend."

She stretched out her hand to him. "I thank you," he replied, and his

face brightened, "for having remembered my small claim on your

friendship. Pray continue to treat me on the old footing, and resume

your repose, which I unfortunately disturbed. I will take care that no

one enters the bower: I can keep watch behind this palm-tree."

She laughed. "No, I did not mean that. I am only too tired to converse

with perfect strangers. Come, sit down by me, if you will be satisfied

with my good intentions, and tell me how the past, and the present have

fared with you."

"You will best be able to judge for yourself how it has fared with me

when I confide to you my situation at the present moment. My friend has

only invited me here for the sake of marrying me. He regards it as a

duty. What do you say to that? In what a sad state must not that man be

whose friends consider it their duty to render him harmless?"

"You alarm me," she replied with a smile. "When I first knew you, you

were, if not actually harmless, at least far from causing so much

mischief that you had to be laid in chains for the sake of the public

safety."

"You are deriding me, Madam. Ah that talent of yours, how well I know

it. This time however your darts did not touch me. My charitable cousin

fears not for others, but for my own safety. He believes that if I

continue to reside alone in the old castle which I have bought;

abandoned to my own crotchets, only occupied in catching hares and

helping the peasants in their agricultural affairs, which I do not

myself understand, that I should sooner or later lose the little sense

which he kindly presumes is left to me. You see he wishes to treat me

homeopathically, dispersing one folly by another. Perhaps he is right.

Those who have proved themselves incapable of regulating their lives

properly, should be grateful, should they not, to their friends for

taking the trouble off their hands, and quietly follow their advice;

but I fancy sometimes that their kind intentions have come too late for

me."

"Too late? I must combat that assertion. Fourteen years have passed

since we last met, and if you did not then make yourself younger than

you were, you can hardly now have reached the prime of life."

"Make myself younger! Good heavens! to do just the contrary would then

have conduced more to my interests. But of what are you reminding me

Eugenie?"

"Is your betrothed young, handsome amiable?" she quickly resumed; "I

would not ask these questions which imply a doubt, if you had not told

me that you had authorized your friend to dispose of your heart, and in

these matters friends are not always to be relied on."

"You greatly wrong our most amiable host," he said laughingly; "Not

only are these cardinal virtues not wanting, but all three of them are

three times combined."

"Three times?"

"I mean in three different samples, as I have been told; so it will be

difficult to choose."

"And each of the three young ladies is desperately in love with you?

Then a twofold catastrophe is inevitable."

"Up to this hour none of my destined brides know of my existence. Their

father----"

"So they are sisters?"

"Yes. A fair, an auburn, and a dark haired one. You see there is no

possibility of escape; Every taste is provided for. Early to-morrow the

merciless disposer of my heart, and hand takes me in his carriage, and

delivers me over to my destiny. They live in L---- not quite four hours

drive from this. Horse dealing is to be the pretext. The father who is

the doctor of that small town, has a thorough-bred grey Arab in his

stables."

"You go forth as Saul the son of Kish. I hope you may return like him

with a kingdom."

"If you but knew," he said pensively, "how little I covet that dignity:

is not a king fettered by his duties? To-day I am still free, so I take

the liberty of sitting down beside you, and of talking with you of that

happy time when I too was held captive, but by enchanting fetters."

She remained silent while he threw himself into the second arm-chair,

and turned it so that he could see nothing of the company in the

saloon; but only the plants before him, and the charming face of the

young woman, lighted up by the solitary candle. Meanwhile the mistress

of the house had sat down to the piano, and began to play a waltz; and

soon the light branches of the palm-tree trembled in the whirlwind

caused by the passing couples. Eugenie silently watched the gay scene

before her. With her left hand she played with a gold chain, and in the

right, held carelessly a large bouquet on her lap.

Valentine stedfastly gazed at her; when she observed it, she took up

the nosegay and buried her face in it. "You think it somewhat

indiscreet on my part," he said, "that I sit before you, as though I

were admiring a fine painting; but is it not pardonable if I gaze with

astonishment on that soft bloom which remains as fresh as though hardly

a day had passed since our last meeting. If I banished from my mind the

thought that fourteen years have gone over my head, and that I may be a

married man to-morrow, I might easily delude myself into the belief

that I am sitting in the conservatory of your parent's house, and have

just laid aside the book in which I had been reading aloud to you, who

were meanwhile watching the gnats dancing on the pond, or the falling

of the leaves. In reality however, only youth can give us those hours

of enraptured extasy, that entire blending of the soul with the soul of

nature, when we are freed from the fetters of our own individuality

only to be united, like a plant, all the more closely with the

elements. When I walked home, still entranced, after one of those

evenings, I felt as if I were carried along the poplar alley, as a

feather is borne by the breeze. In later years we often call that

feeling sentimentality, but even now I cannot laugh at it."

"If I smiled at it in those days, I now feel as if I ought to apologize

for it. We girls are taught by our education to watch over our

sentiments, and to be cautious in our enthusiasms. Now I may confess to

you that I often only wished for Cora to disturb our reading hour by

her barking, or for Frederick to summon us to tea, because I could no

longer restrain my tears."

"You always had the firmer character of the two. The cement which has

consolidated my nature has only grown hard in the bracing atmosphere of

a stirring, and active life. But the names you have just uttered, what

remembrances they bring back to me! My friend, and my enemy, Frederick,

and Cora. That dear old Frederick. I know that he heartily pitied me, a

feeling which is said to be rare between rivals. You cannot be ignorant

of the feelings with which you inspired him. He worshipped you as

devotedly as a gardener, a servant, can worship his young mistress. He

looked on his case as still more hopeless than mine, though with regard

to our social position, his was by far the more settled of the two. The

quiet sympathy of hopelessness united us. Often when he had come to

fetch us from the conservatory and you were skipping before us after

your dog, and overtaking it, would catch it up in your arms, and kiss

it, he would turn to me with jealous wrath, and say: 'Now, can you

understand, Master Valentine, what pleasure our young lady can find in

hugging that stupid brute?' With an indignant shake of his head; the

hair of which he always arranged carefully, since he served at table,

and could offer you the dishes. If you confess the truth, you will own

that you only fondled that ugly creature for the sake of driving us

distracted."

"Do not speak ill of the dead," rejoined Eugenie. "Cora sleeps the

sleep of death, not far from the pond where the bench stands underneath

the elm-tree; do you remember it?"

"How could I have forgotten it? Was it not on that bench that I

fastened your skates, when we started on that skating expedition with

your cousin Lucy. How is your cousin getting on?"

"She is now a fine lady, with a large family. If she only knew that I

have met you here! Not more than a month ago we were talking of you.

She has a kind remembrance of you, and has not forgotten that bright

winter's afternoon, when we first initiated you in the art of skating,

and she maintains that you squeezed her hand on that occasion with more

ardour than your later behaviour warranted. Since then a shade of

fickleness darkens the otherwise favourable recollection she has of

you."

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed laughing; "so the most harmless cannot

escape suspicion. To be sure I was not wholly guiltless, but as it so

often happens I must suffer for another sin than that which I really

committed. When you both held my hands to guide my first steps on the

slippery plain, I longed to express more to you by the firm pressure of

my hand than the mere desire not to fall. But you were always

inaccessible to any intelligence of that kind. You will now bear me

witness that I need not reproach myself with regard to little Lucy. Ah!

I still remember it all as if it had been yesterday! I still feel the

glow which rushed through my veins, in spite of the cold December wind;

the enrapturing touch of your hand, which seemed to linger with me for

weeks after. Do not be displeased," he continued, "at my speaking so

freely of all this. We are no longer the same and can now talk of these

things as though they had occurred to some one else. Is it not an

innocent pleasure if I now tell you what so often hung on my lips in

those days, and was always repressed by that unlucky timidity of mine.

We now meet as good comrades do after having settled a debt."

"And which of us is the creditor?" she asked. "Both of us," he replied.

"Do you not think that I too have some right to that title? If you but

knew what trouble you have caused me; how long your image stood between

me, and every enjoyment of life. But you must have guessed it. When I

used to watch for you on your way to your drawing lesson, when my heart

beat at the sight of your checked cloak, and grey hat--and when I

passed you with all the equanimity I could muster, happy in having been

allowed to salute you, did the unfortunate fate of the poor lad who so

humbly bowed to you never smite your conscience?"

"You are greatly mistaken my dear friend," she said, with a charming

look of merriment. "I blushed whenever I met any one in that attire

which I fancied gave me the appearance of a scarecrow. The cloak had

long passed out of fashion, but my mother thought it good enough for

the drawing lesson. How many tears of mortified vanity have I not dried

with a corner of that detested garment."

He laughed. "You see how widely our natures differ. Fate did wisely in

separating us. I for my part on my travels through the world vainly

sought for a similar cloak which seemed to me to be the essence of all

that is beautiful. In France I once remarked at some distance the same

kind of checked stuff. I rushed after it, but found to my

disappointment that the wearer in no way resembled the lady of my

thoughts. Since that time I am inclined to believe that it was the

wearer and not the garment which haunted the dreams of my youth."

During this conversation the music had continued and the air in the

apartment became hot and oppressive. The young woman agitated her fan,

and inhaled with parted lips the refreshing breeze from it. She

reminded her friend of a remark he had once read in a French book on

the affinity existing between certain blue eyes, and certain glittering

teeth. He told her so. "You see," he continued, "how freely I take

advantage of the privilege of friendship, telling you every thought

which crosses my mind, I make up for my long silence, and you will not

take it amiss. Truly it seems that Providence intends to make me a good

husband and father as on the eve of the important step I am about to

take it relieves my mind from all anxiety regarding it. If I had not

met you, I should never, even in the midst of every domestic felicity,

have been able to rid myself of the fear that some day or other you

would appear, and turn my head as you did years ago. Now that you know

my intentions and that we have placed our friendship on a warm, and

steady footing, I can start on to-morrow's expedition in search of a

wife, with an easy heart."

They had both risen, and now admired the flowers. "How beautiful this

candelabra is," she remarked. "Fortuna subjected by man, and made to

give him light."

"I believe it to represent the goddess of victory. The ball on which

fortune glides from us, is wanting here, but Victory remains faithful

to the daring."

"In that case Victory by serving you on the eve of your expedition,

foretells you good luck."

"I see you doubt my courage Madam. Certainly you above all others have

a right to do so. But this time I hope to manage my affairs better than

I did fourteen years ago. I intend to challenge my fortune, be it good,

or bad, and force an answer from it. If she smiles on me, I promise you

that to you first, I shall be the herald of my heroic achievement. But

enough of myself as a topic; as yet you have told me nothing of your

own life, and how the years have passed with you. I could not muster

courage to make enquiries about you. After I heard that you were

married, I studiously avoided every place where tidings of you could

reach me. I am even unacquainted with the name of your husband. Will

you introduce me to him. He probably has accompanied you here?"

"I lost my husband seven years ago."

He started--"My son is all that is left to me," she resumed, "and I

must now part with him. He has become quite unruly from staying with my

mother in the country, and even if I could find a tutor who knew how to

manage him, I should be sorry to see him pass the merry time of youth

without any companions of his own age."

"I long to see him," he hastily said, without lifting his eyes from the

flowers in her hand. "So he has lost his father; poor child! When he

has grown up you must send him on a visit to me. I will take him out

hunting, give him my horses to ride, and if he should fall in love with

my daughter, why in that case the beginning and the end would once more

be united, although in a different manner from what blind mortal, once

dreamt. Would you consent to the match Eugenie?" and he stretched out

his hand to her.

"With all due regard to the future father-in-law of my son," she

replied gaily. "I should wish first to see the young lady herself,

especially as you cannot even answer for her mother."

"Of course you must approve of the mother; I should never think of

marrying her, if she had the misfortune to displease you! The wisest

course would be!"--

The conversation was here interrupted by a young man, who hesitatingly

approached the embrasure of the window, with the intention of inviting

the lady to dance. She declined, alleging the fatigue of her night

journey as an excuse, and then she left the bower, and mingled with

the rest of the company. Valentine who had remained standing by the

palm-tree, watched her figure amongst the others, and now and then he

fancied he heard her voice. It appeared to him as if he had forgotten

some question of importance, and he tried to recall it to his mind. At

last he remembered that he ought to have enquired for her mother. He

went in search of her to repair his neglect but he could not find her

either in the saloon or in the adjoining rooms. She had disappeared.

* * * * *

It was on the second day after this meeting; a dense morning fog

still filled the street but the air above was clear, and promised a

sunny day, that in one of the rooms of the hotel, Eugenie sat at a

writing-table, an unfinished letter lying before her. Her folded hands

rested on the paper, and her thoughts strayed far away from the

contents of those lines.

Now and then when a step was heard in the passage, she started up, and

listened, but they always passed the door, and she remained alone.

Why did all her thoughts revert to the past, to that particular walk in

the garden where the sunflowers and china asters grew, and the small

fruit-trees threw long shadows across the cabbage beds. The sun was

shining through the high hedge but the air did not resound with the

song of birds. To-morrow when the day waned, she would be far away from

this homely spot, and when she returned, the fruit-trees would be bare,

and snow would cover the ground. The young student who walked by her

side and was digging holes in the gravel with the point of her parasol,

was fully aware of this. He had seen the travelling carriage in the

courtyard, and watched Frederick fastening the valise on the box. When

people start on a journey, who can tell if they will return, or at

least return the same as they went. Is it not expedient then to

exchange one's last bequests, especially if each is disposed to

bequeath body and soul to the other.

If he had but known how highly he ought to value her condescension in

leading the way to this remote and solitary corner of the garden. As

she walked along, she upbraided herself with having thus far made

advances to him. But she would not take a step further, now it was his

turn to forward matters, and if he did not, she would never forgive

herself for having done so much to loosen his tongue. For it had

a high opinion of the dignity of its sex, this young head of seventeen,

and if the unfortunate youth by her side, had choked with mute respect,

she would not have spoken a word to help him. Was not this walk

sufficiently secluded, and the sun at their backs; was it not the only

time she had ever walked with him in the kitchen garden, and above all,

had he not seen the travelling carriage in the yard.

On no account, however, was he to perceive that she had contrived all

this for his sake. She talked eagerly of the approaching journey,

expressed her pleasure at seeing her cousins again, and laughingly

described every one of them.

They had reached the end of the walk, and had looked over the hedge,

but he became more and more laconic. At last he quite ceased talking

and she too became silent. Feelings of passion and mortification rose

in her breast, and nearly choked her. Then she suddenly turned towards

him, and colouring deeply said: "Let us now go back; and give me my

parasol. I shall want it on my journey, and you will break it to

pieces. I must hasten home, as I still have many things to pack. Do you

know that I quite shudder when I think of how much my intellectual

refinement will retrograde during my absence. I shall hardly remember

the English kings in Shakespear's works, which you have taken so much

trouble to impress on my mind. It is a pity, but what can I do? My

cousins are not such pedants as you are. If I return--but who can tell

whether my aunt will not keep me through the winter. Well, it may be a

long time before we can resume our studies and if I pass my examination

badly, this long absence must plead for me."

More than a year passed before they met again--When the morning

arrived, the travelling carriage was ready to start and the ladies

sitting in it, he approached the door of it and offered a bouquet. The

mother accepted it with many thanks. Eugenie nodded gaily to him, and

gave him her gloved hand. He did not see her pale face, and swollen

eyes behind her thick veil. He closed the door and bowed. As the

carriage drove away, Frederic turned once more towards Valentine, and

across his honest face there passed an expression of pity for his less

fortunate rival.

This had been in autumn. When they returned in the middle of winter,

Valentine had left the town; he was occupied at a small court of

justice in the country. Only in the following summer he once again rang

the well known bell at the garden gate. On being told that the house

was full of visitors, cousins, and others who were strangers to him, he

charged the servant with a message that he would return another time;

but a cold bow from her mother whom he met in the streets next day,

showed him that he should not find all as he had hoped; so he never

returned.

Was his absence regretted? Who could solve the enigma on Eugenie's pale

face, when three years later, she married the man her mother had chosen

for her. But now when her thoughts wandered back from the letter before

hereto those days of old, the words of a pensive song resounded in her

heart: "There was a time when happiness was mine to give and take

etc."----

The clattering of swift hoofs was now heard in the street, and she flew

to the window. A horseman on a beautiful grey Arab galloped through the

thick fog which closed behind him. Clouds of steam arose from the

reeking nostrils of the horse.

With an agitated glow in her eyes, she watched the proud and manly

bearing of the rider, and the ease with which he managed his restless

horse. What a difference between this chivalrous firmness, and the soft

pensive manner of his youth. Still she had recognized at their first

meeting, that his heart had lost none of its fresh bloom; it was

developed not changed. Had he this time divested himself of his former

timidity, and spoken the binding words? She shuddered at the thought.

Rapid steps were now heard ascending the stairs. Her habitual

self-command did not forsake her, and when Valentine entered the room,

her face was calm in spite of the quick beating of her heart. She met

him with a smile, and offered him her hand. "Good morning," she said:

"so you have kindly kept your promise! The triumphant prancing of your

horse has already apprised me that you return crowned with success."

"Eugenie," he replied, "you must highly value my visit of to-day, for I

have made it in spite of my conviction that you will have a good laugh

at my expense. My only acquisition by yesterday's expedition is this

horse which I paid for in ready money, and this apple which I stole."

And he laid a fine wax-like apple on the table. "I do not hold the

booty obtained by your campaign so very despicable. I understand

nothing about horses, but as you doubtless obtained the apple from the

hands of your chosen one"----

"If I had but reached that point," he resumed despondingly; "the rest

would be easy enough. You are greatly mistaken, however, if you are

inwardly accusing me of having been again wanting in courage. It was

the superfluity of it which in this case hindered my success. Upon my

word, I would, without the slightest hesitation, have made a

declaration to each of the three young ladies, one after the other."

"What a pretty disaster you would have caused." "I never expected

anything of you but an ironical pity. Still--you may judge from this

how thoroughly perplexed I am--I turn to you for help."

"You expect more of me than with the best intentions I can give you."

"Ah, but you can help me Eugenie. Now listen and I will give you an

account of it all. My friend, and I spent a whole day in their

company."

"That is either a very long, or a very short time as you take it."

"You are right. The time is long enough to fall in love with all three

sisters, and much too short to decide which of them is to be preferred.

The only way would be to take the whole batch from the nest."

"Are the nestlings so unfledged that they would submit to that?"

"To tell the truth I never thought of that. The chief thing for me is

to get so enraptured with one of the sisters, that she should banish

the other two from my mind. But at my age it is difficult to grow

enthusiastic."

"Then all three are equally irresistible?"

"Quite so, all of them made to be kissed, and each of them a different

style of beauty; so that when one sees them, together one feels that

one could never be satisfied with only one of them."

"Your account is given in too vague and extravagant terms. I wish to

have it in proper order, and with every detail. First then comes the

fair, then the auburn, then the dark one; or how do they follow in

age?"

"I don't know."

"Well, then we will arrange them according to size, and begin with the

smallest. Is it the auburn haired young lady?"

"I really cannot tell."

"You seem to have employed your time badly, or was it the triple

fascination which had such power over your feelings from the first,

that your senses left you?"

"Certainly I cannot excuse myself on that score," he replied laughing.

"I do not remember a more disagreeable sensation than I had yesterday

on my way to L----. A visit to the dentist is a pleasure trip compared

to it. Several times I was on the point of jumping out of the carriage,

but then I reflected that my cousin's horses would soon have overtaken

me, and then I should have been delivered over ignominiously into the

hands of my evil destiny. For on this point, my friend, who is in every

other respect so yielding, knows no mercy. So I plucked up courage, and

thinking over all the evil that had ever befallen me in the course of

my life I tried to find comfort by repeating that in fact it all

amounted very much to the same thing. At last we arrived. I had

stipulated from the beginning that my cousin should not say a word of

my real purpose, either to the father, or to the young ladies. The

doctor was not at home when we first arrived, so we only found the

sisters of fate in the neatest of dresses, fresh and charming like

three rose buds on one stalk. Yes in truth they equalled the three

graces, and their manners too were far from being provincial. I could

not tire of looking at them."

"The beginning seems promising."

"When they perceived us, they left their several domestic occupations,

and ran to meet my cousin. Then arose a delightful trio of merry

girlish voices around us. Of course my share of their words, and looks

of greeting, was at first only what civility demanded, and I was quite

contented with this, as it gave me a good opportunity of quietly

observing them. When I first entered the room, and perceived the dark

haired young lady, who looked up from her work with large and wondering

eyes, I said to myself; This is the one, I always had a prediliction

for dark hair. The next moment however, I again wavered at the sight of

the fair haired one, whose voice is as clear as a bird's, and her skin

as white as the cherry blossom. Then the auburn haired one entered,

grace and modesty personified. You will understand, that under these

circumstances my countenance did not wear a very intelligent

expression. However I was soon on very good terms with the three young

ladies, and when they conducted me to the stables to show me the horse,

I even took the liberty of lifting the fair one on its back, and led it

about in the courtyard."

"Then it is the fair one."

"Not exactly; I only gave her a ride because she was the most

courageous, and appeared to be very familiar with the grey Arab. She

sat on his back with folded arms as calmly as if she had been on her

sofa, whereas the auburn haired one clung to the mane with a charming

timidity."

"So all three had to display their horsemanship; at least you can now

judge of the weight of your future wife."

"No, the dark-haired one was not put to the test. Their father had now

joined us. He turned them out of the stable-yard, and charged them to

provide for our dinner. Then we soon settled the bargain, and ratified

it by a bottle of good Heidelberg wine. The doctor pleased me. He is

just the sort of man one would desire for a father-in-law. Besides he

is a good sportsman, an excellent judge of horses, and the best chess

player in the neighbourhood."

"In that case your young wife will pass very amusing evenings."

"If it ever comes to that. But as I said before I lost my time, and

opportunities, in a most inexcusable manner. In the afternoon we walked

through the town to see the old castle in which the former king gave

great entertainments, but under the present government it is quite

deserted. The place where the orange-trees stood is now turned into an

orchard. It was a pretty sight to see the delicious looking apples, and

pears lying carefully assorted in great heaps on the green grass; and I

never inhaled a more refreshing odour than was diffused over the spot.

So we walked along; the three sisters in front with light straw hats

and all dressed alike; then we three behind them. While I was examining

them, the thought struck me that I was now in the same position as that

prince who while keeping his father's flocks, was suddenly called on to

award the prize of beauty to one of the three goddesses."

"So you appropriated to yourself this apple, hoping to extricate

yourself from your embarrassment by a symbolical allusion."

"I certainly put it in my pocket with that intention; and as we rambled

through the old park, and now one of the sisters, and now another

walked beside me on the narrow path, I several times felt fully

convinced that just this girl was the right one and I secretly grasped

the apple. Then again when one of the others turned round towards me,

or some word or sound of laughter reached me I hastily replaced it. So

I did not dispose of it, and have brought it back with me.

"Is it not provoking Eugenie, that when love was at hand courage was

wanting, and now that I have gained courage, love is not forthcoming."

"You must not despair at the outset," she said, encouragingly. "Your

first attempt was not so very bad. Rome was not built in a day, neither

can you expect to found your domestic felicity in so short a time. Are

their names all equally pleasing to you? I lay much stress upon names,

and can easily understand the feelings of that dauphin who would not

wed a woman called Uracca."

"That cannot decide me either," he answered, despondingly. "Anna,

Claire, and Mary, I know not which I prefer. No, my kind friend, I now

look to you for assistance."

"To me, I cannot guess how I can be of use to you in this intricate

affair."

"It is certainly a great favour which I require from your friendship,"

he replied with some hesitation. He had now risen, and had taken the

apple in his hand. He threw it several times into the air, caught it

again, and finally replaced it on the table. "You see," he resumed,

"when after having passed a very restless night, I mounted my horse--my

cousin had driven back the same evening--and as I rode through

the fog in the frosty morning air, it occurred to me what a strange

co-incidence, it was that just before deciding on the most important

step of my life, I should meet you once more; you the only one who

really knows me, and in whom I could freely confide, were anything

wanting to your knowledge of my character. I recalled to mind all your

kindness to me, and also all the harm you have done me, and I felt

convinced that you really were my debtor, and owed me some reparation

for all my misfortunes, and privations. What I further thought,

Eugenie!----Well, that is not to the purpose now.--So I devised a plan

which I hope you will not mar."

"What is it?" she asked absently.

"Would you consent to get into a carriage with me, and accompany me to

L----? I would take you to the doctor's house, and then you could see

the three girls side by side. The one to whom you gave this apple would

become my wife. I solemnly promise you that I will not raise the

slightest objection to your choice."

"You cannot give me full powers, and I could not accept them in such a

case."

"And why so? I am quite convinced that I could be tolerably happy with

any one of them; indeed, for that matter, if I did not think it

presumptuous, I might simply write down their names, throw them into my

hat, and draw my lot with closed eyes. It could not be a great prize,

_that_ has passed for ever; at least many things would have to be

changed; but at all events I should not draw a blank. But why should it

be hazarded, why should you think the responsibility so great, if I

consult you as the friend of my youth, with the firm conviction that a

clever woman can more easily fathom the depth of a girl's character,

than a man ever can."

"But even if I consented to your adventurous scheme, under what

pretence would you introduce me to the family?"

"I have also considered this point," he said, striking with his whip

the many coloured pattern on the carpet. "I introduce you to the good

people as my betrothed. In this way we are sure to obtain our end, for

every girl, even the most undesigning, in the presence of a bachelor

endeavours to shew herself in the best light. They are daughters of

Eve. But if I return to them as one already disposed of we shall easily

be able to find out which of the sisters has been acting a part and,

perhaps, I may even discover that one of them has secretly monopolized

my heart. Surprise often brings to light the true character."

He glanced at Eugenie who stood before him with an air of quiet

deliberation. She had let him come to the end of his proposal, but now

she shook her head.

"Think of some other plan, Valentine, I cannot consent to this one."

"There is no danger in it."

"Possibly, but I am neither skilled enough, nor do I feel inclined to

act that part, and were I suddenly to drop the mask my embarrassment

could hardly exceed yours."

"Consent at least to assume the character of a sister."

She considered for a while. "If I agree to this," she said at last, "I

only do so for the sake of proving how little I can help you. The

qualities in a girl, which please or displease an old woman, are

totally different from those which seem important to a man. I confess

that curiosity has a share in my decision, and above all the fear of

your cousin, who would never forgive me if I did not further his

philanthropic plans on your behalf."

"I thank you," he exclaimed joyously, taking her hand and kissing it.

"Now I am free from all anxiety. A true friend is certainly one of the

greatest blessings under heaven. I will go this moment to the landlord,

and order a carriage."

"Your wooer's wings must submit however to some delay. Or do you expect

me to perform the part you have forced upon me in my morning dress and

cap?"

"In truth," he replied, "I never noticed that. In my opinion you might

boldly drive to L---- in your present attire. The hair so pushed back

under your cap, shows your fair temples to advantage, I am enabled

again to admire those unruly meshes in your neck which in former days

ensnared my poor heart, like a fish struggling in a net."

She held up her finger threateningly, and then said, while a sudden

blush suffused her face: "Take care, else I will betray you to your

future bride. Your triple courtship, however, excuses the disregard

with which you treat the toilette of an old friend. Here are some

books; amuse yourself in the meantime; I will be back presently."

She disappeared into the adjoining room and closed the door behind her.

He approached the table on which the apple lay, and after pensively

gazing at it for a while, he suddenly gave it an angry push, which sent

it flying over the edge of the table, and rolling across the carpet. He

sighed, and as if to rouse himself struck his hand with his whip till

it smarted. He then mechanically took up one of the books which lay in

the corner of the sofa. It was a volume of Moerike's poems, and they

exercised on him their powerful charm. He forgot all around him, and

drawn on from page to page was soon completely absorbed in "The moonlit

path of love once sacred."

Suddenly the door from the passage opened and a lad of about ten years

rushed into the room.

"Mother," he cried, "will you allow me---- Why to be sure she is not

here," he then said to himself, and turned his sharp clear eyes

inquiringly on the stranger. "Come here, my boy," said Valentine

stretching out his hand to him. "Your mother is dressing in the next

room. What is your name?"

"Fred is my name."

"Won't you give me your hand, Fred?"

The lad hesitated. "Who are you?" he asked partly embarrassed, partly

defiant.

"I am an old acquaintance of your mother's. She will not object to your

giving me your hand. So, that is right. Will you come to see me some

day? I have four handsome horses in my stables. I will give you a small

gun, and will take you out shooting with me. The first hare you shoot,

you shall bring to your mother."

The boy's eyes sparkled, but suddenly he became thoughtful, and said,

"I should like it very much, but I must go to school. This is my last

holiday, and the two sons of the head-master have just invited me to go

into the fields with them to fly a kite."

"Well, then you will come to see me in the vacation time. Would you

like that, Frederick?"

"Yes, if my mother permits it."

"Go, and ask her, my dear boy. We will become fast friends, won't we?"

The lad nodded. Valentine took him up and kissed him. Then his mother

called him into her room; and Valentine heard him, as he eagerly

repeated what the strange gentleman had said to him. "He gave me a

kiss," continued the boy. "Why does he love from the first moment he

sees me?"

They continued the conversation in an under tone, and then the boy left

his mother's room by another door.

Valentine approached the window, and watched him as he left the house,

and joined his two playfellows, who had been waiting below for him. His

fair straight hair hung in masses about his shoulders; his round

childish face beamed underneath the border of his cap. Yet the man at

the window seemed to find no pleasure in the sight.

When Eugenie, dressed for the drive, entered the room, she found him

still in the same position. She wore a dark green hat with a waving

black feather, and a short grey cloak which closely fitted her fine

figure. "I am ready, my friend," she said; "let us get into the

carriage?"

He looked up in confusion. "The carriage?" he asked.

"Yes, the carriage which I suppose you ordered long ago."

"I confess," he replied, "that I have not yet done so. I did not expect

you to be dressed so soon."

"You are certainly the first man to complain of that. Well, so it seems

that I must provide for our departure."

She rung the bell and ordered a carriage. Whilst her orders were being

executed, Valentine remained standing near the window, and attentively

examined the arabesques on the curtain. He perceived that she stooped

to pick up the apple, but did not anticipate her.

"Well, I think you ought to treat this fine apple with more respect,"

she said jestingly. "You see it has been already injured by its heavy

fall."

"Perhaps it were best Eugenie to leave it where it is. The reluctant

shudder of yesterday is already coming over me. Why must I try my luck

at L---- Why should it be one of the three sisters. Possibly I need not

look so far to find what I desire."

"You ought to be ashamed of your vacillation," she answered with

comical solemnity. "Is this the courage you boasted of? Come, rouse

your spirits, and replace the stolen apple in your pocket. The sin you

have committed by this theft, can only be expiated by the more

difficult task of stealing the heart of one of the sisters. Come, I

hear the carriage driving to the door. You have excited my curiosity,

and I shall not rest till it is satisfied."

When the carriage had left the town, and was rolling smoothly along the

even road, Valentine broke the silence. "I have become acquainted with

your son, Eugenie," he said.

"You must praise him to me," she hastily returned; "I am a very proud

mother, he is the very image of his father."

"I thought so," he resumed. "The face seemed strange to me. I only

recognized the mouth. This mouth is strikingly like yours, Eugenie."

She turned away towards, the carriage window, and her eyes wandered

over the landscape, which had now contracted, so as to form a narrow

valley surrounded on both sides by steep vineyards. The mist had

entirely cleared away, and the wet tendrils and leaves of the vines

sparkled in the bright sunlight. The river bordered with willows, and

alders flowed smoothly by the road side, and small barges glided

rapidly along the current. Nothing is so refreshing and enlivening as a

drive on a fine autumn day. Valentine experienced its charm and soon

resumed the conversation. He enquired after the health of her mother,

and after a while Eugenie began to speak of her husband. "You would

have been his friend, Valentine," she gravely said. "He was an

excellent man, and a brave officer and he had a profound and unaffected

admiration for all that is good and beautiful. Those who did not know

him intimately thought him cold and indifferent, but inwardly, he was

full of generous warmth which he kept for his family, his friends and

those who were in want. My mother still grieves for him, as she grieved

for my father. I hope that Frederick will some day resemble him in

every respect."

Valentine was silent for a long time. At last he asked, without looking

at his companion, "Have you never thought of choosing a second husband

among the many suitors who no doubt have surrounded you?"

"No, my dear friend," she answered quietly. "Passions have never

troubled me, and a marriage founded on esteem--it always is a lucky

chance if one does not repent of it afterwards."

They had now reached a turn in the valley, and the unexpected change of

scene interrupted the conversation. On the left hand where the vine

covered hills receded from the river, lay a small town, the industry of

whose inhabitants was testified by the smoking chimnies of many

factories, and the roaring and clashing of the water engines.

A broad stone bridge led across the river, and high above the old gable

roofed houses, rose the graceful edifice of a gothic church, whose

perforated spire of delicate fret-work with the ornamented cross at the

top, projected boldly into the clear blue sky, and was surrounded by

swarms of pigeons.

"This is C----" said the coachman, pulling up his horses for a moment,

and pointing towards the town with the end of his whip.

"Drive over the bridge," cried Valentine; "we wish to visit that

beautiful cathedral before we proceed on our journey."

Eugenie looked at him enquiringly. "Let me manage it all," continued

Valentine, turning to her. "We are sure of reaching the doctor's house

in good time, so I propose that we rest here awhile, climb up to that

steeple, and dine at the inn of the place; by this plan we shall not

arrive just as my future father-in-law is sitting down to dinner.

To-night there is full moon, so that our drive back, though somewhat

late, will not be the less pleasant."

"Be it so," she replied, "I only stipulate that the rest of our plan

remain as we had first agreed upon, and that the valiant knight does

not seek a pretext to keep the apple again in his own pocket."

He laughingly promised it on his honour as a knight.

The carriage had now stopped before the cathedral. They got out

and desired the old portal to be opened for them. The grey-haired

door-keeper slowly led them through the lofty nave and aisles, coughing

and gasping at every step.

"The dank air of the church is not good for you, old lady," remarked

Valentine. "Have you not a grandchild, who could serve in your stead,

as a guide to strangers? You ought to sit basking in the sun. Go, and

leave us to find the way by ourselves."

"Showing the church is all well enough," replied the old woman, "but I

can no longer drag myself up the steep stairs of the steeple; so if the

lady and gentleman wish to climb up there, they will have to go by

themselves. You cannot miss the way; one flight of steps follows the

other, till you reach the upper gallery; once there, you will have had

enough of it."

Valentine looked at Eugenie. "Shall we try?" he asked. She nodded, so

they passed through the narrow portal, guarded by two dragons hewn in

stone and they began their ascent; leaving their old conductress below.

Up there the scanty warmth, and light of the autumnal sun could not

penetrate, and the dim cool twilight which prevailed, inclined them to

silence. As they ascended the winding stairs, Valentine watched the

little feet, which so nimbly mounted the steps before him. He felt as

if he could not but follow them, even if they chose to venture out on

the steep roof, which now and then was to be seen through the

apertures. He heaved an involuntary sigh. She stopped on one of the

landing places, and turning looked smilingly at him. "You are out of

breath it seems."

"On the contrary, I feel as if I had too much of it," he replied.

"Do not squander it, methinks you will yet want it. See how high above

the world we are already, and still the gallery over the nave is much

higher."

"I believe you are in fact leading me straight to heaven, Eugenie."

"Gently, gently, you must first deserve it," she replied laughingly.

"And if I carry it by storm?"

"It remains to be seen whether you are as exempt from giddiness, as

such a titanic achievement would require. But I would rather you now

walked before me; for the stairs grow narrower, and narrower, and I

fear I shall lose courage if I see no one in front of me."

He complied with her wish, and pensively ascended the steps before her.

Only the rustling of her dress against the wall told him that she was

still behind him. So they reached the first gallery which ran round the

base of the spire, and entered the interior part of it. "Don't let us

stop here," she said, "I will not look around me, till we have reached

to the very top. Meanwhile we can admire what is above us. Look how

curiously, this pointed airy tent of stone closes around us; a cool

bower. It is a pity that the wooden pillar which supports the small

upper staircase, somewhat disfigures it, and mars the effect of this

beautiful sculptured rosace. But to be sure without it, we could not

reach the very point of the spire. Come now, let us proceed in our

ascent."

They soon stood beside each other on the aerial summit, and gazed with

exulting awe into the fathomless depth below them. The numberless

denticulations and ornamented pinnacles of the cathedral, the hundreds

of chimnies and roofs, the neat market-place with its quaint looking

old town-hall, the swarms of people in the streets, every thing

appeared small, strange, and silent as if it were a world of pigmies.

At a little distance the river basked in the sun, resembling a silver

snake, and its ripples glittered like scales in the light. Further down

the valley in the grey distance, above the vineyards rose the clear and

cloudless outlines of blue and purple hills. As they stood beside each

other, and leant over the stone parapet, he gazed intently at her

purely cut profile, which she had heedlessly exposed to the sun. Her

eyes were still fixed on the world below her; the wind had dishevelled

her long hair and the loosened tresses brushed Valentine's cheek. She

did not notice it; her parted lips eagerly inhaled the freshening

breeze, her delicate nostrils dilated, and the blood flowed more

rapidly through her blue veins.

"Are we not amply repaid for the fatiguing ascent," she asked. "How

beautiful it is here. The further we are separated from our fellow

creatures the dearer to our hearts they become. I can easily imagine

that if a fierce misanthrope filled with animosity and hate were to

ascend to these heights, with the intention of precipitating himself

over the parapet, he would be suddenly softened and converted, after

looking on these humble roofs, underneath which thousands of people

bear the sufferings and toils of this life, and are contented if they

can only see the sun, and the sky, and the golden cross on their

steeple."

"There certainly is a purifying virtue in the air of higher regions,"

he replied in a low voice. "We are freed from the oppression of daily

petty considerations and customs, and are drawn nearer to the Creator.

We feel as if we were called to rise above the world, part of which we

survey at our feet. Even the most faint-hearted must feel the wings of

his soul expand, and that which he dared not utter or even think in the

midst of the din, and cares of every day life, here spontaneously flows

from his heart to his lips."

Suddenly the sound of trumpets and flutes reached them from below, and

they saw a band of music followed by a crowd, slowly advancing in

solemn procession, as it issued out of one of the narrow streets, and

marched across the market-place. The brass of the instruments sparkled

in the sun and some of the people wore bouquets in their hats.

"Apparently a wedding," remarked Valentine. "But where is the bride?"

interposed Eugenie. "It rather seems to me to be one of those

expeditions which now daily proceed to the vintage accompanied by

singing and music. But you have just mentioned weddings; that reminds

me of the great aim of our excursion. Come let us descend." He appeared

not to have heard her. "Eugenie," he said, "if we had stood up here

fourteen years ago, all would have been different."

"Who can say if it would have been better. I am inclined to think that

all that happens to us is well, and for our good."

He had pulled out the apple, and held it before him on the stone

parapet.

"Do you really believe that Eugenie?"

"Yes, I do."

"And if I had told you then, what escaped from my lips, the first

evening we again met, what would have been your answer?"

"That question, is a matter of conscience, my dear friend," she

replied, carelessly, "which even up here a hundred feet above the every

day world you are not justified in asking. Before I could give you a

clear and concise answer, I should have to read through some chapters

in the book of my life, which I have not perused for many a year." "And

that truly is a trouble which I cannot expect you to take," he replied

in a pained, harsh tone. "Besides it would be useless labour as the

writing must have long since faded. I forgot that though the chapters

in my book, end in a blank, yours have a continuation." Saying these

words he leant over the parapet, and the apple he held in his hand

rolled as if by accident over the edge. In its fall it struck one of

the many pinnacles which surrounded the spire, and broke into several

pieces, which flew, describing wide curves, into the street.

"What have you done Valentine?" exclaimed Eugenie; "where shall we be

able to steal another apple? Only fruits of stone can be plucked here.

But now let us hasten down."

"You are right," he replied, indifferently, "here every thing is of

stone; I did not think of that." Then he remained silent till they

reached the streets. The gloom however, which had settled on his

countenance, could not hold out against the unconstrained gaiety of his

companion. His brow cleared before they had taken many steps on their

way to the inn. She had taken his arm through the narrow tortuous

streets, her cloak, which in the warm sunshine had become too heavy for

her, hung loosely from her shoulders. As they walked along, they joked

merrily at the smell of the new wine, which met them at the entrance of

every cellar and courtyard and even pervaded the precincts of the old

dilapidated church, and at the large vats which obstructed their way.

When they reached the inn, the hour of the table d'hote had passed, so

they sat down alone in the large room, at a small table, where they

were amply provided with the best wine of the country; but Eugenie

wished for a bottle of that year's vintage. She said she longed to

taste that beverage the scent of which she had so abundantly enjoyed

during her walk--

When she had tasted it, she praised the sweet and turbid drink.

"It resembles first love," remarked Valentine, "beware of its strength;

it will turn your head."

"At my age there is no danger of that," she replied, smiling. "I am an

old woman already, and take my daily nap after dinner. To-day this bad

habit will be of great service to me."

She then retired to a room prepared for her, and Valentine remained

alone in company of the wine and his thoughts. The uneasiness of the

morning had passed, and he no longer pondered on what would be the end

of all this. The voice of a good genius secretly whispered in his ear

that fate now smiled on him. He looked around, as if to ascertain that

no one was near, and then hastily took a sip from Eugenie's glass, with

the devout superstition that it would help him to divine her thoughts.

As however no enlightenment on this point was vouchsafed him, he

consoled himself with the thought that without doubt, she was asleep at

that moment, and so could think of nothing. He represented her to

himself reclining on the sofa, her small feet crossed, and her head

drooping on her shoulder. A sensation of happiness thrilled through

him; he felt as if he must hasten upstairs, kneel before the fair

sleeper, and press her hand to his lips. But he soon rejected this

thought, lighted a cigar and patiently waited for Eugenie's appearance.

It certainly seemed as if the new wine had confirmed its reputation,

for more than an hour passed before the door was opened, and his fair

companion re-appeared.

"Good morning," she exclaimed, "how long have I slept? truly this wine

though it seems so harmless, is even in its cradle as powerful as an

offspring of the gods. It will be late before we reach the home of your

fair ones."

"We never can reach it late enough," he replied, laughing. "Think of

what you promised me on your honour as a knight," she said, with a

menacing gesture, "and hasten our departure. What a careless mother I

am, instead of spending my poor boy's last holiday with him, I stroll

about the country making the acquaintance of new wine, and old

churches."

In spite of Valentine's efforts to hasten their departure the day had

waned before they reached their destination. The fog had gathered

again, when the carriage slowly ascended the hill on which the town was

built, and rattled over the bad pavement. Valentine lifted Eugenie from

the carriage when it stopped at the inn, and silently walked by her

side through the streets to the doctor's house. She remarked that he

was greatly agitated, and she almost felt pity for him, but they had

already mounted the stone steps which led up to the neat little house,

the knocker had sounded, and a moment afterwards the door was opened by

a stout little man with large gold spectacles.

"Why, what's this!" cried the merry old gentleman, pushing back his

spectacles. "What gives me the unexpected pleasure of seeing you so

soon again? I hope there is nothing wrong about the horse----but I see

you have brought company with you, and I have left you standing out

there in this rude manner. You must excuse me, fair lady; you see we

are still barbarians in this remote corner of the world. I beg you will

honour my humble roof. But now tell me seriously my dear friend _is_

there anything the matter with Almansor? Unfortunately you will find no

one but myself at home, my dear Madam; my daughters will be

inconsolable when they hear that during their absence----but I will

send for them this very moment; but stop a bit! why confound me, I

remember now, I have already sent for them, they will be here in a few

minutes. To the left Madam if you please, will you kindly walk in here,

most honoured guests?"

They entered the room, the door of which the lively little man had

opened for them. In the centre stood a table laid for four, on which

there were cold viands and a bottle of new wine. The whole was lighted

up by the faint twilight which stole through the window. "Now you can

judge for yourself, my most honoured friend, how we are treated by our

children," resumed the doctor. "Those naughty girls of mine run away,

and leave their papa to wait for his supper. We will play them a trick

however, nothing but the empty dishes, shall they find on their return.

But what a fool I am, inviting you to supper without considering

that this scanty meal is in no way fit for such charming visitors.

Unfortunately the cook is gone to summon them, so there is no one

to----But please to be seated at least, take off your hat and cloak,

and make yourself comfortable--Welcome to L---- most honoured lady. Now

my friend _do_ tell me has the horse?"----

"I can relieve your mind on that point my dear doctor," Valentine at

last interposed. "I value Almansor's excellent qualities more than

ever, since he has found favour in the eyes of my betrothed, to whom I

have the pleasure of introducing you." Eugenie bowed to their amazed

host. She checked the words which had risen to her lips, and only a

severe look reproved Valentine for this arbitrary assertion, so

contrary to their treaty.

Had the little doctor entertained other hopes since yesterday's visit?

Had he attached greater importance to it than mere horse-dealing?--With

a low bow he stammered forth his congratulations, and thanked Valentine

for honouring him with this visit. However he soon, recovered his

jovial equanimity and laughingly said: "Well, you are the most complete

hypocrite and false hearted friend! Did you not on this very spot abuse

matrimony so vehemently, that you even alarmed, and terrified such an

old widower as I am? and then to come next day accompanied by your

betrothed----Well, she certainly is bewitching enough to convert a

heathen.--Pardon me, pardon me. Madam."

Valentine laughed. "I can assure you, doctor; that none but you are

responsible, if after all my yesterday's heresy has been retracted."

"I? you are joking."

"No, I am speaking in good earnest. For you have, or rather your horse

has been of great assistance to me in winning this fair lady's hand.

This morning when mounted on Almansor, I rode up to the window behind

which stood my beloved one, the sight melted the hardness of her heart,

and she acknowledged herself conquered. Hardly had I recovered my

senses, which were somewhat confused by this unexpected victory than I

declared that you should be the first person to hear of our engagement,

so we ordered a carriage and drove to L---- and now permit your

grateful and overjoyed friend to embrace you."

"Ah!" exclaimed the delighted doctor, "my fancy for horses has caused

me many vexations, but this master-stroke of Almansor's makes ample

amends for it all. No my dear young lady, you need not take it amiss

that your betrothed has divulged your secret. I esteem you all the more

highly since I find that you acknowledge a man to be only complete on

horseback. Now leave it all to me, my eye ranges all over the country,

and if some day I should find a lady's horse worthy of cantering by the

side of Almansor----"

"It shall be _mine_; let us shake hands over it, doctor, and the first

time I ride with my wife, you shall accompany us."

"Agreed," cried the little man, and energetically shook hands with his

guest. "But where are those girls, confound them; just when all is

ready to celebrate this happy event they are wanting."

"Are your daughters on a visit in the town?" asked Eugenie.

"Yes, my dear young lady, they have been invited to one of the autumnal

grape gatherings, by a friend of mine, who has daughters of the same

age. I have no doubt, that the affair will finish off with a dance;

however I exercised my paternal authority, and strictly enjoined them

to come home before evening. I will not again allow them to dance at

this season of the year, for every time they have done so, they have

brought home bad colds. Now they will miss you delightful visit, and it

serves the disobedient hussies quite right--but they really must come I

will have them fetched home instantly! halloo Henry!" he shouted to a

farm-servant, whom he had seen passing, from the window; "just run over

to the Kitzinger garden and tell Margaret to bring them home

immediately. Now you see," he continued, turning to his guests, who sat

side by side on the sofa without looking at each other, "how little

respect a father enjoys. You must educate your children with more

severity. Ah! if my wife still lived, it would all be different."

Eugenie blushed and remained silent, but Valentine exclaimed; "No, no

Doctor, don't disturb your daughters in their merry making. It is true

that I have praised them so much to my dear Eugenie that she will not

leave L---- without having made their acquaintance, but there will be

time for that to-morrow, for the moon does not make its appearance,

and I hear that we shall be well provided for at the inn of the

Crown."--"Are you not of my opinion darling," he said turning to

Eugenie, and suddenly approaching his lips to hers.

"Valentine," said the young woman, and drew back quickly, "you seem to

have forgotten what you promised me."--"Now what do you say to that

Doctor? She reminds me of my promise, and does not keep hers. Eugenie

have you not vowed to agree to all my wishes, and are you justified in

refusing a kiss to your betrothed. Come now let us seal our engagement

as students seal their fellowship. We have not yet done so."

"That is right!" exclaimed their host. "This is only new wine, but in

the cellar...."

"Don't trouble yourself my dear friend; is not new wine sweet, turbid,

and intoxicating like first love. And you must know, Doctor, that the

fair charmer before you has been worshipped by me from the time I

entered college and though fate parted us in later days. 'Old love

fades not,' as the people say, and you know that 'the voice of the

people, is the voice of the gods.' So We will perform the sacred act

with none other but new wine. Fill your glass. Doctor!"

He had risen with these words and again turned towards Eugenie, with

two full glasses in his hand. She sat on the sofa suffused with

blushes, and her eyes fixed on the ground. Maidenly confusion sealed

her lips, she tried to speak, but could not utter a word, so she took

the glass mechanically. He then knelt before her, twined his arm within

hers after the fashion of the students and emptied his glass at one

draught. She took a sip from hers with half averted face. Valentine

then threw away his glass and kissed her lips.[6]

"That's right," said the doctor. "You need not blush fair lady, if an

old man like myself is present at so solemn an act. All I ask as a

reward for my good offices, is that I should be permitted to assist at

the wedding."

Valentine silently nodded, and remained standing for a while before

her, pensively gazing on her calm brow.

"My dear Doctor," he then began, "you must make some allowance for two

people who are nearly out of their senses with joy. It is no trifling

matter, I assure my dear friend, when one's betrothal is only of

a few hours standing; particularly as this cruel lady love of mine

tormented me so relentlessly with her wicked tricks, and her apparent

indifference struck me dumb, and made me feel as timorous as a bashful

youth. It was so years ago, when she was still in her mother's house,

and I used often to think that I should no longer be able to stand it,

but must plunge into the water to cool my smarting wounds. Then when we

again met after many years of separation she was just the same. How

often, by some jesting word has she not checked the confession which

hovered on my lips, that my feelings for her had remained unaltered;

and who knows how all would have turned out, had it not been for you,

my dear Doctor. Now, however, you see she has quite changed, and you

would never believe how much of subtleness and womanly art lies hidden

beneath those demure eyelids."

"Nay, you calumniate me, dear Valentine," she said, and raised her

beautiful moist eyes to his. "It is only natural that I should not show

my feelings so openly here, in a house which is yet strange to me,

though it may not appear so to you."

"And whose is the fault, if not mine," cried the doctor, "or rather of

those disobedient damsels who leave all the duties of a host to me."

"Well, where are they? what are they about, why are they not with you

Margaret?" he angrily asked the cook who had now entered the room.

"You see. Sir, the master and mistress of the house pressed the young

ladies to stay for the evening," replied the old woman staring at the

two visitors with wondering eyes. "They promised that the young ladies

should not dance too much, and Miss Clara thought that if I put it in

that light to you Sir!..."

"Deuce take it," cried the doctor, in a passion, "but they _must_ come

home immediately!"

"Nay, my dear Doctor," Eugenie said, entreatingly, "Pray do not burthen

our consciences with this cruelty."

"Heaven forbid," Valentine hastily added. "Tomorrow there will be time

enough."

"Well, let us go after them," proposed the doctor, "what do you say to

closing this eventful day with a dance?"

"Are we not better here," replied Valentine, "we do not know your

friends, and would greatly prefer remaining another hour under your

hospitable roof if you will permit us to do so. Is it not so Eugenie?"

She nodded. The old gentleman then rubbed his hands delightedly, and

declared that he had not felt so pleased for many a year. He sent the

maid into the cellar and the larder and made her bring all that

was to be found in the house, in spite of the entreaties of his

visitors not to make so much ado for them. When they were at last

sitting gaily and comfortably together, the doctor exclaimed with a

look of satisfaction: "Now if the girls but knew what they have missed

by their disobedience!"

Valentine smilingly looked at Eugenie who had now completely recovered

her usual calm demeanour and gave with composure her opinion on the

subject of the future arrangement of their life, which Valentine had

proposed, and played her part admirably.

When the clock struck ten, she arose. "I am afraid, we can await your

daughters no longer;" she said, "to-morrow, when they have rested after

their dancing we will return."

"I will not detain you," replied the doctor, "for I verily believe that

they will not come home, till I go and fetch them myself. That is the

way they treat their old father. I will forgive them, however, this

time an account of the pleasure they have procured me of having your

society all to myself. But I rely on your promise to return to-morrow,

and perhaps, you will understand my paternal weakness when you see

these naughty daughters of mine."

So they all set forth; the doctor had insisted on accompanying them to

the door of the hotel; there he left them, and they silently followed

the waiter who carried the light before them. He opened two adjoining

rooms and after wishing them good night disappeared.

Valentine stretched out his hand to Eugenie. She pressed it, and said

calmly, looking up at him,

"Good night to you, my dear friend, sleep well, and au revoir

to-morrow."

Then she entered her room and closed the door behind her.

After remaining quiet for some time he knocked gently at the door which

separated the two rooms.

"Eugenie," he whispered.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Your good night of before, was against our treaty."

"Against what treaty?"

"That which we solemnly ratified with the doctor's new wine."

"I think we have had enough of this acting I only agreed to the pledge

because I thought it lay in my part."

"Can we not continue in earnest, what we began in jest. At all events

it was a solemn vow made before witnesses."

"Well, then I will make up for it to-morrow morning, and now once more

good night." But no movement showed that she had turned from the door.

So after a pause Valentine began again,

"And all the rest may I not consider it as true?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, all that we acted this evening."

"That is a good deal."

"Eugenie."

"Well."

"Can that be too much which alone can give me back the life and

happiness you have taken from me a thousand times?"

"When I consider...."

"Oh, Eugenie, say that I may throw myself at your feet, that I may

kneel before you. Do open the door--!"

"Gently, gently, my dear friend. You certainly deserve some punishment.

What! is this all your courage? You can only speak out what weighs on

your mind behind the shelter of a closed door! I will bet anything that

you have even put out the light hoping that the darkness may give you

confidence. You dare not acknowledge your love for me in the face of

day. You are a poor hero indeed. But I will now confess to you that I

have owed you a grudge for many a year."

"You are jesting again, Eugenie."

"No, this time I am thoroughly in earnest. If in former years you had

as little courage as now, why at all events could you not have been as

cunning. Was there no door then behind which you could have owned to me

what now comes too late!"

"Too late? No, Eugenie; where are the years that separate us from that

time? Is it not the same timid lad of those days who now stands here,

and implores you to lighten the darkness around him with a heavenly ray

from your eyes. Can you leave me to despair?"

He waited some time for an answer. Suddenly the door was noiselessly

opened, and she stood before him smiling, but with tears in her eyes.

"One kiss freely given you, as a token of forgiveness for all you have

made me suffer," she said.

He folded her in his arms and she softly passed her hand across his

brow, saying: "Here, there are many lines, but our hearts are still

fresh and youthful, and to-morrow we will begin life anew where we left

it off fourteen years ago."

She pressed her lips to his, and with his arm round her waist, he led

her to the window. The moon had dispersed the fog, and a gentle

autumnal breeze wafted the scent of the grapes through the open

casement.

"Let us drive back to-night, my darling," she said. "I could not sleep

now, and the air is quite mild. Go, while you order the carriage, I

will write a few lines to the doctor, and tell him not to expect us

to-morrow: Is it true, Valentine, can it be true, that we have at last

told each other what we knew years ago?"--

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The title given to all housekeepers in old-fashioned

houses. _Die Hausmamsell_ is so untranslatable a title in its exact

meaning, that I have left it. _Translator's_ note.]

[Footnote 2: A part of Switzerland on the frontiers of Italy.--The

Translator.]

[Footnote 3: Not the Lombardy poplar, but the populus Alba, or Abele

tree, which is wide spreading.--The Translator.]

[Footnote 4: Name of a promenade at Meran.--The Translator.]

[Footnote 5: Lauben. A provincial term for arcades.--The Translator.]

[Footnote 6: This is an old custom at the German universities when

a new comer enters the Fellowship--they call it "Bruederschaft

trinken."--The Translator.]

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's L'Arrabiata and Other Tales, by Paul Heyse