"H--, May 15th.

"You ask me, my Cornelia, whether our love is to remain a secret. Yes, I entreat you to keep it so. Let no one, no matter who it may be, touch the tender plant which is budding in our hearts. So young an affection needs concealment until it is strong enough to withstand all storms; and believe me, my angel, they will not be spared you. I am far too well known, have too often had occasion to thrust others aside, not to have obtained the ill-will of persons who will take pleasure in casting poison into your heart merely out of malice towards me. That I have given them sufficient cause, I will frankly confess; for until a character like mine is complete within itself, it must fall into a thousand errors, contradictions, and inconsistencies. No man of real ability escapes this crisis of development. The more variously and richly he is endowed by nature, the more severe a process of purification he must endure; and this cannot be accomplished without expelling, by a violent fermentation, the dross which indelibly sullies his outward life, if, like me, he has been exposed to the eyes of the public. The private citizen experiences such epochs in silence; he is not watched, and therefore his errors are not observed; the false step taken in a position as lofty as mine is visible to the whole world, it is imprinted not only upon the personal chronique scandaleuse but upon the history of the times, and receives an official character. Therefore beware, Cornelia, of wishing to become acquainted with my nature through any other person than myself; beware of exposing the chaste secret of your heart to curiosity, malice, perhaps even envy. Do not think that foolish vanity makes me use this word, for the present inordinate thirst for marriage it is only natural that envy should be excited in all circles, when a young girl is loved by so prominent a man. Keep aloof from all these profaning influences. Believe me, I know woman's nature, with its thousand delicate threads of feeling and consequent excitability and sensitiveness, and I warn you to conceal my image in your inmost soul. We do not at first perceive the injury such a tie sustains by a rude touch; but as a fruit beaten by the hail continues to grow and shows the blemish and bitterness only when eaten, so the sore spot our hearts disturbs our happiness, and at last develops a bitterness all our love cannot soften. I make the greatest sacrifice because I can only see you clandestinely; but the time will come when our love will dare to show itself openly before the world, when we can no longer lose each other, and then you will perceive that I was right and thank me for my present self-sacrifice.

"Say nothing, even to Veronica; age is garrulous; I sincerely respect her, but I cannot acquit her of this peculiarity of her years; you have already made her so accustomed to your independent habits, you dear little piece of obstinacy, that she will not think it strange if you keep this letter from her as well as the others. It will be the last I shall write from here, for Prince Edward, who is to marry Ottilie as a proxy, arrived day before yesterday; the ceremony will be performed day after tomorrow, and then we shall set out at once. As the princess's health is somewhat delicate, and a journey by rail exhausts her more than to travel by ship, I shall bring her from B---- by water. We shall arrive on the 21st. Be sure to be at the harbor; the papers will give you all the particulars. Then, Cornelia, I will lay my weary head upon your breast, and rest peacefully after the thousand miserable anxieties of diplomacy and etiquette, which torture a poor ambassador extraordinary. Yes, you may be right when you say I was born for something higher than to be the servant of a prince. When I read such words, something stirs within me like an awakening power, which only needs the impulse to cast off its chains, to shake itself free by one mighty effort. Whether and from whence this will come to me, from without or from within, I know not; but this I do know, that only you can rouse the ideal powers which a misdirected life has lulled to sleep.

"Farewell till we meet, my angel.

"Your own Heinrich."

It was late at night when Heinrich finished this letter, and while he went calmly to rest and fell asleep with Cornelia's name upon his lips, the princess was wandering up and down her chamber like a restless ghost. The lamps were burning brightly in their ground-glass shades beside her bed, whose silken curtains waved slowly to and fro as Ottilie passed them.

"It is impossible; I cannot do it," she said, as she leaned for a moment against the window. "If it were only day! The night makes all anxieties rise before us like impassable mountains! Or, if sleep would overpower me! But now it has been wholly put to flight by the thought that I have but one more day of freedom,--freedom to love and suffer; and then--then I must tear my heart from all to which it clings so fondly,--forget, cease to feel: and woe betide me if I do not wholly succeed in doing so! To see him daily, to be obliged to distinguish him from among the nobles of my country as my husband's favorite, and yet force back what my own heart feels; to feign an indifference which makes the forms of courtesy--the true expression of my opinions--a lie! And you could undertake such a task, unhappy one? You could allow yourself to be so confused and persuaded that you did not shrink from the tortures your consent would impose? If it were only suffering!--alas! I am accustomed to that. It is the fear of guilt that terrifies me. It is not only in act that we can sin, but in thought. Each thought that steals back to that time of quiet, patient longing is a robbery of what I owe my husband,--a crime against my vow. Woe betide me if those ardent dark eyes, which beam only with love, even upon those for whom he does not feel it, should ever rest in all their power on mine! Shall I be able to prevent absorbing death from them with ardent longing? And if at such a moment my husband should approach, secure in my affection----"

She threw herself on her knees and hid her blushing face in her hands. "Oh, God! my God! thou who knowest better than I whether I am right in thy sight, have mercy upon me and deliver me from this night of doubt and anguish! Thou hast placed me in this lofty station! Give me the strength, the coldness, the dignity,--not only the outward, but the inward dignity,--which raises the reigning princess above ordinary women. Let me not be compelled to expiate it so terribly, because I willfully cherished an affection for a man whom thou didst not destine for me. Have mercy, have mercy, oh, Father, thou who hast been the only one to extend thine arms lovingly in answer to my search!--thou to whom alone I could fly when, like a lost child, I despaired in this cold world! I have brought thee my tears, complained to thee of the sorrows other children weep out on their mothers' breasts, and to-day--to-day for the first time--thou wilt not permit thyself to be found."

She rose and saw that a bar of light was bordering the horizon. Her glance fell upon the mirror and showed her a face so pale, so tear-stained, that she was almost startled at the sight of her own image. She gasped for breath, and, utterly exhausted, at last threw herself upon her bed and fell asleep. When she awoke the sun was already high in the heavens. The deep slumber had strengthened her, and she rose with a feeling of new life. With the light of day more calmness and clearness of judgment had returned. She collected the last remnant of her strength, and felt ashamed of her weakness.

"Be a princess, be proud, Ottilie! Worthily fill the place for which God has appointed you. Pay the debt you owe him for the gifts he has bestowed, and which you have held at so cheap a rate because they were valueless to one. Perceive that it is the call of God that rouses you from this selfish melancholy. Obey it, fulfill your destiny like all other created beings; and if your strength fails, what can befall you worse than the death for which you are always longing? Life will never be so dear to you that you cannot hail it as a last blessing. My Lord and God, I lay my broken heart, my hopes, my wishes at thy feet, and make but one prayer,--grant that, in return for all my sacrifices, I may not be denied the joy of fulfilling my task and making others truly happy."

She stood erect, as if surrounded by a halo of self-abnegation, when RÖschen suddenly begged permission to enter. "I most humbly pray your Highness's pardon for having come without being summoned," said the young girl, "but the chamberlain has just brought your Highness the news that Prince Edward was thrown from his horse this morning and so dangerously injured that he cannot appear at the wedding as proxy."

"What? Oh, God! is it possible?" exclaimed Ottilie.

"Will your Highness deign to receive the chamberlain's news in person?"

"No, no! But ask him whether the marriage will be deferred, or if some one else will take the place of the prince."

RÖschen withdrew, and came back with the reply that the wedding would, in all probability, be deferred. Count Ottmar had already sent a telegram to N----, and they were now awaiting an answer.

Ottilie seemed to be animated with new life. A delay,--a respite,--although only a short one, enabled her to breathe more freely. "Dress me, RÖschen, and then send for Countess Carlstein. I will drive for an hour; I need the sun and air. Ah, RÖschen," she continued, as the young girl was arranging her toilet, "how will you feel in a foreign country?"

"Oh, I shall be contented anywhere, if I am with your Highness; especially as you have graciously given my father a place in your train. We shall still be able to see each other when I have any spare time."

"Good, contented little one," smiled Ottilie. "Tell me frankly, RÖschen, has your heart no need of love? Do you not regret that you have rejected Albert, and must go through life alone?"

"No, your Highness," exclaimed RÖschen, cheerily; and two charming little dimples appeared in her plump, rosy cheeks. "Life in your service is so pleasant, and I love you and my father so dearly, that I haven't the slightest wish for the constant restlessness and feverish excitement of a betrothal."

Ottilie stood thoughtfully before her. "Tell me, my child, how did you succeed in forgetting Herr von Ottmar so easily, since you love no one else?"

"Oh, your Highness, I did not forget him easily," said RÖschen, raising her large, childlike, blue eyes frankly to Ottilie's face. "I cried a great deal at first, and thought I should die; but by degrees I saw that it is a sin to covet anything we know the dear God does not intend for us; besides, my confessor, Herr Lorenz, represented how hard it would be for my old father if he was compelled to see his daughter waste away thus. Then I felt ashamed of myself, went busily to work again, and broke myself of my useless longing and sighing. Ah, work is good for everything: it leaves one no time to weep, and at night one is so tired that sleep conquers all grief. So I soon began to take pleasure in living again, and thanked God that he had punished my sin so mildly. Anxiety about poor Albert was the only thing that troubled me, and now I am relieved even from this. He is a happy man."

The princess felt the reproof contained in the young girl's artlessly prattled philosophy. Her glance fell upon the mirror, and, as if reflecting the reproach in RÖschen's words, it showed cheeks paled by her long-nourished sorrow, in the sharpest contrast to the bright, blooming face of the waiting-maid.

"Yes, yes, you are right," she murmured, at last, gazing at RÖschen's image in the mirror. After a long pause she began, in an almost expressionless tone, "Have you learned no particulars from Albert as to whether an acknowledged love exists between the count and the young girl called the Prison Fairy?"

"Albert does not know it positively, your Highness, but he is almost sure of it; for ever since the count came back from N---- he has written to her very often, and seems entirely different from what he used to be,--much more cheerful and happy."

Ottilie compressed her lips, and involuntarily laid her hand upon her heart, as if she felt a sudden pang.

"Does anything hurt you, your Highness? Does the pin I put in there prick you?" asked RÖschen, anxiously.

"Yes, take it out; it hurts me," said Ottilie, and thought, "Ah, if you only could!"

"Your Highness, your heart is beating violently! Your Highness is certainly suffering from that pain in the breast again! If you would only tell the doctor about it!"

"My good girl, he can do me no good." A short cough interrupted her, and she glanced smilingly at RÖschen's troubled face. "Be calm, my child, people do not die of such things; and if I should, I shall leave you a legacy which will support you all your life."

"Your Highness!" exclaimed RÖschen, with a deep blush, while the tears rushed into her eyes. "If your Highness thinks it is only for that,"--she could say no more.

"My dear RÖschen, have I hurt your feelings? Indeed, I did not intend to do so. Then there is one heart that loves me for myself. God will reward you for it far better than I. Do not cry: give me my dress."

RÖschen smiled through her tears, threw the dress over Ottilie's shoulders, knelt down, and pulled the folds straight. Then she gazed with childish admiration at her mistress's tall, stately figure. "Ah, how beautiful your Highness looks now! I cannot imagine that any one can be handsomer or more noble. Your Highness is so--what shall I call it?--such a holy apparition."

Ottilie smiled involuntarily. "Oh, how delighted your Highness's proud husband will be when he sees he has obtained such a beautiful wife!"

"Do you think so?"

"Of course; he must be pleased. He has chosen your Highness without knowing you. Even if you were ugly, he would still be compelled to keep you; but if you are beautiful, it is a real piece of good fortune,--a true gain to him. He will undoubtedly rejoice."

For the first time in many days, Ottilie felt tempted to laugh. "You are a perfect child," said she. "May God preserve your innocence! You are like a fresh spring day to my soul, and that is of great value to me. But do you know we have spent two hours in curling hair and dressing?"

"Yes, your Highness; but I can't help it," replied RÖschen, apologetically.

"No, no; I know it. Tell me, RÖschen, how would you feel if you were obliged to meet a stranger and greet him as your husband?" asked Ottilie, with as much apparent unconcern as possible.

"Oh, dear me! It must be strange, I think. No doubt it is very hard for a royal lady that she cannot have her own free choice and take the one she wants; but she must bear something in return for the many advantages over others which she enjoys, or she would have everything quite too pleasant; and every human being must have one sorrow, or he will not deserve heaven."

"Very true; but what would you do if you were in my place?"

"Why, your Highness, if matters had gone so far that I couldn't change anything, then I would in God's name reconcile myself to them, and make every effort to become as fond of my betrothed as I could, that I might have some pleasure in him myself, for it must be terrible to belong to a man whom one doesn't love."

"But if you cannot love him?" asked Ottilie, with interest.

"Why should one not love the husband to whom one is wedded in the sight of God? One can become fond of any worthy man, if one has a kind heart, like your Highness: and the prince is said to be both handsome and good. It is better for any one who can choose freely not to betroth herself to a man whom she doesn't love, or to a stranger; but if one must take him, and can't get rid of it, one ought to meet him trustfully and lovingly, that it may be not only outwardly but inwardly a true Christian marriage."

"Yes, we must question the oracle of a simple heart, if in our over-refinement we wish to find the way to truth and nature," murmured Ottilie. Her toilet was now complete, and she thought that she looked better than usual. "If the Lord so wills, he can speak from the lips of a child!" she thought to herself, for she had received unexpected consolation from the simple girl who was so greatly her inferior.

Just at that moment the chamberlain announced the ambassador extraordinary, Count Ottmar, who requested a private audience to communicate the wishes of his prince.

Ottilie started at the sound of his name, but moved on with a firm step to the reception-room where Heinrich awaited her.

"Pardon me, princess, for having ventured to request permission to speak to you once more alone."

"My future husband's messenger must always be welcome to me," said Ottilie, with stately courtesy.

Heinrich looked at her in astonishment. It was difficult for him to find the precise tone that would harmonize with this address. He was unaccustomed to such coldness from Ottilie, and felt confused. This did not escape her delicate feelings, and to fill up the little pause of embarrassment she motioned him to be seated.

Meantime Heinrich had regained his composure, and began, in a firm, grave tone: "Your Highness, permit me to speak to you once more in the language in which I formerly had the happiness of making myself understood; for the point in question does not merely concern a commission from the prince, but private relations of a delicate nature with which it is connected, and which I can only discuss with your Highness if you will permit me once more, and for the last time, to approach you as your friend."

"Count Ottmar," replied Ottilie, in a low but firm voice, "you may be assured that I am not contemptible enough to seek to deny the existence of 'relations of a delicate nature' between you and myself, but I must also expect that you will be considerate enough to say no more about them than is absolutely necessary."

"You may be sure of that, princess. I regret that my introduction to this conversation should have given you cause to fear the reverse."

"Tell me my bridegroom's message. What can he ask to which I would not consent in advance?"

"Then I will discharge my duty. The reason I have used so much circumlocution you will perceive without any further explanation. You are aware of the misfortune that has befallen Prince Edward. I telegraphed at once to N----, as my office required, and have just received from the prince the dispatch I now have the honor to deliver to you."

Ottilie took the paper, went to the window, and read: "Impossible to defer the marriage. All the preparations are completed. The whole country in readiness to give a brilliant reception. Unadvisable to disappoint the expectations of the nation. If agreeable to the princess, I appoint Count Ottmar proxy on Prince Edward's place. Count Ottmar will inform the court at once, etc." Ottilie could read no more: the remainder concerned only matters of etiquette; the words lost their meaning, the letters swam before her eyes. She stood motionless as if struck by a thunderbolt. Every tinge of color faded from her cheeks, she seemed frozen into a marble statue. She must exchange rings with Ottmar, be wedded to the man for whom she longed, only to belong to another; she must vow to be faithful to her husband, and she loved his proxy. The forms which would have sealed her life-long happiness, had they been true, now only served to sanction the lie at the thought of which her heart bled. And yet ought she, as the betrothed bride of another, to make the humiliating confession to Heinrich that she felt too weak to bear his presence at the altar?--ought she to give way to such weakness herself?

Heinrich read these thoughts reflected upon her brow. "I knew this news must affect you unpleasantly, princess, and therefore preferred to give you the information privately, that you might be able to tell me frankly whether it would be agreeable to you to stand before the altar with me or not. I hope you will understand my 'consideration' now; for if the inquiry had been made officially, you would not have been able to offer before the eyes of the world the insult of refusing to accept me as a substitute. But here, alone, you can tell me if it will be painful to you to have me beside you; and I will not take the acknowledgment as a humiliation, but receive it as a sacred confidence, and find means to delay the progress of affairs without mentioning your name."

Ottilie struggled with her feelings for a moment, and then held out her hand to him. "I thank you, my friend. Your forbearance is kind and noble, but it is unnecessary. How could I meet the prince, my husband, if I had not done with--everything?--if I shrank from this last drop in the bitter cup? What has been begun must be finished. If I have the courage to accomplish the great falsehood of my life, it ought not to fail me in this short, painful comedy. Ought I to rob an expectant country of its festival of joy, leave its garlands to wither, suffer its good-will to be transformed into anger, on account of the cowardice of a sore heart? Ought I not, as the mother of the country, to understand my duties better? No, no, Ottmar; I am stronger than you thought. I will go with you to the marriage ceremony; I will think only of my people, pray for them alone,--my kind people, who are hopefully expecting me: that will give me strength to bear the mockery of fate which places my hand in yours,--to part me from you forever." Here emotion suffocated her voice: she motioned to Ottmar to withdraw, and turned away.

"Oh, princess," he cried, "if you knew what grief I feel at the sight of your silent suffering, at the thought that I am its author, and can now do nothing, nothing to lessen it! I am an unhappy man, who always acts solely from egotism, and yet is not bad enough to be able to witness the result of his deeds coldly and without remorse. No, God is my witness that I am now speaking the truth, and not acting a part!" He threw himself on his knees before her. "Forgive me, princess; I have committed a terrible crime against you!"

She laid her band gently on his head. "I forgive you all, Ottmar. May God bless and guide you in the right path!"

"I thank you!" cried Heinrich, springing up. "Then I am to give the court notice that the marriage will take place?"

"I have already said so."

When Heinrich had closed the door behind him, Ottilie gave free course to her tears. "Oh, God! oh, God! how much can a heart bear without breaking?"

She had told the truth: hers was not one of those natures in which grief, by a violent assault, swells the veins to bursting, strains the nerves to their utmost tension, and excites a wild conflict in the heart; she belonged to those deep, silent characters, which do not have the strength to offer the resistance which increases it to despair, or conquers it, but patiently suffer it to obtain complete possession of them, and conceal it in the deepest recesses of their souls, where it gently and gradually gnaws away the roots of life. This proceeds from no lack of strength or courage. They use all their moral power in the conscientiousness and capacity for self-sacrifice peculiar to them, in order to accomplish the tasks of superhuman difficulty which fate most frequently imposes upon these very natures.

Ottilie performed such a task when on the following day she went to the altar with Heinrich, and succeeded in stifling the thought of his close proximity by fervent prayer. She did not cast a single glance at his face, but stood as pale and calm as a corpse adorned for the grave. All were weeping around her, although they could have given no reason for it, even to themselves. Her manner after the wedding exerted a sorrowful influence: it seemed to each person who offered her his congratulations as if he were uttering a lie, and a thrill of melancholy ran through his whole frame as she bowed her beautiful head in acknowledgment. With the firmness to which all royal personages are trained, she went through all the customary ceremonies; but in saying farewell she could not restrain her tears, and held her uncle's hand closely clasped in hers as she thanked him for all his kindness.

The old prince was deeply moved. "Ah, Ottilie," said he, "I fear that in you my country is losing its good angel. True, I ought not to complain, since it will obtain great advantages by your marriage; but they will be no compensation to my heart for you. Farewell! May God give you happiness!"

The journey was the greatest martyrdom to Ottilie's weakened nerves; for she now had not a moment in which she was unwatched. She must guard every word, every look; she dared not yield to any feelings of exhaustion or depression. Thus passed a day of torture. Fortunately, when night came, her bodily fatigue was so great that sleep relieved her for a few hours from her excitement and anxiety.

The following day they reached the frontiers of Ottilie's second home. Here she received a portion of her new court, and dismissed her former train, with the exception of those who were appointed to a place among the ranks of her future attendants. The exchange between the old and new courtiers was a matter of comparative indifference to her, for she had never expected to find these men anything more than mere conventional machines. She welcomed one party with the same affability that she displayed in bidding farewell to the other, without any special feeling. The cordial reception given her by the country people in the first little town on the frontier was a joyful surprise, and when she at last reached the prince's yacht which lay awaiting her and gave her a royal salute, when she had entered it with her train, and on a most lovely day floated down the broad stream, past shores adorned with tokens of welcome, her heart began to swell with the thought, "You are the mistress of this country. It belongs to you, and its happiness, its freedom, will perhaps be in your hands." And this ray of hope cheered her soul for a moment.

Heinrich watched her with alternate dread and joy, according to the mood expressed upon her features. It was a great source of anxiety to him how Ottilie would bear all these exertions. If her strength failed, if she met the prince as a sickly, feeble woman, all the blame would fall upon him who had made this match. She still seemed outwardly firm; but in spite of her faultless bearing it did not escape him that her breast rose and fell more and more rapidly the nearer she approached her destination. He would gladly have sustained and animated her spirit as one seeks to save and protect en expiring light, but the unapproachable dignity of manner which she had adopted towards him since her marriage made it impossible, and caused him the greatest perplexity. The last stage of the journey was reached: he saw her grow still paler; and she received deputations from the city at which they had arrived, and some of the highest staff-officers who had come out in two yachts to meet her, in a voice so faint that the words were scarcely audible. It was with great anxiety that Heinrich saw the moment of the meeting between her and the prince approach. And he was not wrong.

When the three steamers left the last stopping-place and glided, calmly and majestically, side by side down the broad stream, countless boats adorned with gay streamers put off from both shores and accompanied the large vessels; on the right and left, before and behind, they assembled hundreds; as far as the eye could reach there was nothing to be seen but a moving stream of fluttering pennons. The mistress of ceremonies signified to Ottilie that she ought to go on deck and show herself to the people. Scarcely had she done so when a loud cheer rang from thousands of throats: a greeting from the students, the most promising young men in the country. And now music rose from the foremost boats, like an eagle extending its wings above the confused, brilliant throng. The echo repeated the strains majestically from the rocky shores; a fresh breeze ruffled the water, and as if borne along by the sound the boats dashed on.

Ottilie clung dizzily to the railing of the deck. It seemed as if her soul must escape from its tenement and soar into eternity upon those tones, and she gazed with a strange, unearthly expression at the magnificent spectacle and the sunny air thrilling with the notes of the music. The sweet sounds blended into a threatening roar, a volley of artillery! Masts, flags, and steeples appeared in the distance.

"The harbor is close at hand, your Highness," said Heinrich. Ottilie turned pale: the shadow of death rested upon her face. "Take courage; compose yourself, or all is lost," he whispered.

She still stood erect, and he watched her in painful suspense. The distant steeples became still more distinct; there was a second roar of artillery from the accompanying yachts,--a third,--the harbor opened before Ottilie's eyes, and now began the thunder of a hundred guns, while the ringing of bells floated athwart them in majestic waves of sound. The boats fell back with a repeated cheer, and the steamers slowly entered the harbor. The rigging of the ships that lay at anchor was filled with sailors, who waved their hats and shouted a wild "hurrah!" A countless throng of people on the edge of the harbor, at the windows, and on the roofs of the houses, which were gayly adorned with flowers and tapestry, sent forth their shouts of welcome to Ottilie, amid the thunder of cannon and the ringing of bells. Everything swam before her eyes. The impression was too powerful; all this produced too violent an emotion in her oppressed heart. Yonder stood a group of gentlemen, the foremost must be the prince just ready to enter the boat which was to bear him to the ship; a mist gathered before her eyes, her heart stopped beating, the blood flowed coldly through her veins: she laid her damp, icy hand upon the shoulder of the mistress of ceremonies, and tottered. Heinrich caught her by the arm, and both carried her down into the cabin, where she sank back utterly unconscious.

"I thought so," muttered Heinrich, and went up to receive the prince, and if possible detain him.

The mistress of ceremonies knew not what to do, and called the lady's maid. RÖschen appeared and applied the usual restoratives. Ottilie breathed faintly, but was unable to raise her head.

"The prince is on board," said a chamberlain.

"Oh, God!" moaned Ottilie; and again she trembled violently.

"Will not your Highness try to rise?" pleaded the mistress of ceremonies, in the greatest anxiety; for the prince might now enter at any moment. RÖschen caught her in her arms, the door was thrown open, and "his Highness" was announced. One last violent effort, and Ottilie stood erect. The mistress of ceremonies withdrew with RÖschen. The prince entered. Ottilie bowed with her usual stately grace. The prince's eyes rested with surprise and pleasure upon the beautiful, although pallid, face. The aroma of aristocracy which surrounded her was wonderfully pleasing to the man of forms.

"Allow me to express to your Highness my most heartfelt gratitude for the confidence with which you intrust your future to me, a stranger; and receive the assurance that I shall hold so precious a gift as sacred, and know how to guard it."

Twice Ottilie essayed to speak, and twice her voice failed. At last her tongue obeyed her will, and she began: "Your Highness, the confidence for which you compliment me so highly is only a fitting tribute that every noble-minded person must pay to a prince whose political as well as private life lies open and blameless before the gaze of all. It is far different with me. My existence has flowed on in silent seclusion. You know me only from descriptions and from my letters; the latter might be dictated, the former invented. I myself, my own character, can alone win for me your esteem, your friendship. Your Highness will perceive it is only natural that this consciousness should disturb me, and pardon my embarrassment. Moreover, the kind and magnificent reception your Highness and the people of the country have bestowed upon me has moved and confused me deeply. I am not accustomed to such things. I am well aware that it is not given to my person, but my position; but I have so identified myself with my new dignity and its duties that I cannot help taking these festivities to myself, and allowing their overmastering impression to influence me."

The prince had listened admiringly to the melody and grace of her language. "Your Highness is in error if you suppose this reception is given solely to your position. Certain forms of course are indispensable on such occasions; but a rumor has preceded you, which not only secured my esteem, but excited the greatest enthusiasm for you among the people, and this you must have felt. The reception was a sincere one, and if you had been known the tokens would have become still more enthusiastic, for I freely confess that your appearance has surpassed all our expectations, and must win the heart of every one who sees you."

"This praise from your lips, your Highness, makes me very proud; for I believe you far too noble to expect insincere flattery from you in so solemn an hour."

"You are perfectly right, princess; the hour in which two human beings, who are united for life, see each other for the first time, is a very solemn one, for it holds the key of our whole future. I am therefore the more joyfully surprised to find in you a nature which opens to me the hope of a happy marriage. Permit me to believe that at least you do not feel the contrary to be the case?"

Ottilie tried to speak.

"Do not answer me," interrupted the prince. "How could I be so ungallant as to seek to call forth complimentary assurances from a lady? No, you shall not tell me so; you shall only allow me to feel it. I shall eagerly await the moment when your eyes will tell me that your heart has confirmed the choice which destiny imposed."

"Your Highness," replied Ottilie, "receive the assurance that I have no other wish than that of making you and your people happy. I will be an obedient, and faithful wife, and never ask anything of you except indulgence. Be assured that I shall never claim any tokens of love from you. No feeling of affection has united us who are total strangers to each other; we both yielded to the commands of political necessity. It depends upon ourselves to lend value to such a tie, to form a more or less cordial bond of friendship, but not to conjure up emotions which the heart receives only as revelations. I tell you this, your Highness, that in your noble chivalrousness you may not think it necessary to delude yourself and me by the expression of such feelings. I shall have attained the highest goal of my hopes if you will some day bear witness that I have not entered your life as a disturbing element, but to bring a blessing."

"I understand your Highness's delicacy of feeling. Your every word affords me a fresh proof of the treasure I possess in you, and I hope a bond will be developed between us higher and firmer than one founded on mere chance sympathy,--a bond of mutual comprehension and unchanging esteem. Shall it not be so, my Ottilie?"

"May God grant it, your Highness!"

"Etiquette commands that I should now leave your Highness. To-morrow at the cathedral I shall take pride in presenting you to the nation as its princess,--as a true princess. Yes, I am proud of my noble wife," he added, emphasizing the words, while a cold smile gleamed over his smooth features. He pressed his lips lightly to Ottilie's hand and withdrew. She stood motionless and exhausted; tears no longer dimmed her eyes: her destiny was fixed. She now knew the man to whom she belonged, and what she had to expect from him.

The mistress of ceremonies entered, and again she was forced to add another link to the chain of self-denial which already rested so heavily upon her weary shoulders. Heinrich breathed more freely when the prince's own lips expressed his satisfaction with his choice; although he regretted his deed, he must still desire it to be crowned with complete success, since his whole destiny depended upon it. Moreover, his remorse was not so sincere as he had made Ottilie believe in their last interview, or even as he had believed himself. It had unconsciously been heightened by the selfish fear that he had sacrificed Ottilie uselessly,--uselessly for himself, for he could no longer doubt that he had been mistaken in her character. She was wholly changed from what she had been in former days; with the same greatness of soul which had led her to show her love for him when free, she concealed it now that she was bound. He perceived that she possessed one of those deep natures which seize upon all that they believe to be their appointed destiny with silent, unassuming tenacity of purpose, and hold it steadfastly to the end. So had she clung to him when she believed herself marked out for no other fate than to love and suffer; and now she seemed to cleave with the same self-denial, if not to her husband, to the duties of her new vocation. Here was the solution of his false reckoning; and he now quickly came to the conclusion that he had nothing more to hope from her for the furtherance of his ambition than any other; that she would even consider it a needful victory over herself not to favor him. Thus he had now accomplished an act which he must despise as one of the most horrible results of his selfishness,--robbed himself of a friend to whom he might have fled in every vicissitude of life; he had solved so many difficult problems in politics and love, ruled the most reserved and haughtiest women, struggled victoriously with the first intellects of his court, but by the simple greatness of her character his plan was baffled,--because he knew only the strength of her love, not the power of her virtue. Ottilie was a complete contrast to himself; with all his intellect he could not understand a character destitute of all, even the most necessary selfishness; and thus he was at last compelled to confess himself vanquished by the power of a goodness in which he had never believed. He pitied Ottilie as the martyr of exaggerated ideas, and felt that across the barriers of this loyal "prejudice" no sympathizing intercourse could ever take place between them. He was now thrown entirely upon himself and Cornelia; he did not possess even one friend, for he lacked the only foundations of friendship,--unselfishness and confidence. Cornelia alone now captivated his sensual as well as his intellectual nature. She was the last and only thing left him, and the secretly lonely and dissatisfied man clung to her with all the strength of his life. The hours during which he was compelled to attend the marriage festivities dragged slowly and painfully.