Cornelia did not suspect what a sword was hanging over her head, did not question the near or distant future, but lived wholly in the present moment. One thing alone she did not forget,--her visits to the prisoners. She devoted the usual time to them; the place where she first saw Ottmar had become sacred to her, and by her mournful labors for the unfortunate men, her patience with their sufferings and obstinacy, she believed that she was paying fate a tribute for the happiness enjoyed in her love. She rarely appeared in public, for she could not bear the glances that accused her of guilt of which she knew herself to be innocent. She therefore no longer entered a church or theatre; her church was her love, her God in Heinrich's breast, and her studies with him conjured up a world of beauty. She wanted nothing, needed nothing, but him. She made no subtle inquiries and no longer doubted him; he was everything to her, and she knew that with him she should lose all.

Thus it sounded like a voice from another world when one day a "stranger lady" was announced. Who could visit her still? The lady entered, and fixed a half-timid, half-questioning, glance upon Cornelia.

"You are FrÄulein Erwing?"

"That is my name. With whom have I the honor of speaking?"

"I have come on an errand from her Highness the princess."

Cornelia gazed dreamily into eyes whose blue vied with the ribbons on the stranger's hat.

"Her Highness wishes to make your acquaintance, and begs you to pay her a visit to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock."

The young girl's voice trembled slightly, and she looked expectantly at Cornelia. The latter stood motionless with amazement, almost terror. What did Ottilie want of her? RÖschen--for she alone could execute this confidential commission--was unable to turn her eyes from the noble figure its sweeping black robes.

"Can you not at least tell what has procured me the great happiness of being permitted to wait upon the princess?" asked Cornelia.

"No, FrÄulein; I only know you will be received with the greatest kindness, and that only sincere interest induced the princess to see you."

"Say to her Highness that I am truly grateful to her, and that I will wait upon her to-morrow at the time appointed."

"Her Highness will be very glad. Farewell."

"Excuse me, FrÄulein; one question more: is your name RÖschen?"

A deep blush suffused the lovely face. "Yes."

Cornelia, deeply moved, went up to her, took her hands, and pressed a kiss upon her fresh lips. "We have known each other a long time, have we not?"

RÖschen was surprised and greatly agitated. "Yes, yes!" she exclaimed, pressing Cornelia's hand to her lips. "Let me thank you for all you have done for Albert. We can never repay you for it; but the dear God will know how to reward you."

Cornelia gazed into her eyes for a long time with ever-increasing interest. "You ought to have become Albert's wife: the poor fellow has suffered so much for your sake."

"I cannot leave the princess, and besides,"--RÖschen hesitated a little,--"besides, he did not wish it so very much. Ah, I understand it now: he who has once seen you can never love another."

"Oh, my dear girl, what are you saying? You will be reconciled to each other again, or I shall regret what I did for Albert." She glanced anxiously at the clock; for it was almost the hour when Ottmar might be expected.

This did not escape RÖschen's natural delicacy of feeling. "I am detaining you, dear FrÄulein, and the princess is waiting. Farewell! your kindness has made me very happy."

"Will you not come again, that we may continue our talk?"

"With the greatest pleasure. But there is one thing more I had almost forgotten: the princess begs you to tell no one that you have been requested to come to her. She will refuse all visitors to-morrow on the plea of indisposition, and fears people might take it amiss if she----"

"I understand," interrupted Cornelia, "and will say nothing."

After RÖschen had gone she stood for a long time absorbed in thought. The solution of this enigma could not be guessed. She rejoiced over the strange event, for she had loved Ottilie ever since she knew her relations with Ottmar; yet it grieved her to think that she would perceive at every breath a happiness denied the princess. Suppose her eyes should rest upon Cornelia with sorrowful jealousy as her fortunate rival.

The following day and the appointed hour came. In great agitation, and not without a little timidity at the idea of the grandeur that surrounded Ottilie, Cornelia entered the magnificent apartments of the princess. The groom of the chambers conducted her through a long succession of rooms. At last he paused, pointed to a half-open glass door, and disappeared. The silken portiÈres were drawn aside, and Ottilie stood before Cornelia!

A long pause followed. Both looked at each other in breathless suspense. Ottilie was paler than ever; Cornelia deeply flushed. At last Ottilie gently took her hand and murmured almost inaudibly, with a sort of sorrowful satisfaction, "Yes; so my fancy pictured you! So you must be."

"Your Highness bestows upon me so great a favor that I seek in vain for words to express my joyful surprise and gratitude."

"There can be no question of gratitude here; but no doubt you were surprised that I should request you to visit me." Ottilie seated herself, and drew Cornelia down upon the sofa beside her. "I have a great and important matter to intrust to you, FrÄulein, and believe I can read in your eyes, an your lofty brow, the certainty that I have applied to the right person." Cornelia looked at Ottilie in eager expectation. After a short pause, the latter continued: "Accident, FrÄulein, or rather destiny, made me acquainted with your labors among the prisoners. I perceived with admiration how you had aimed at results which the wisest provisions of the law could not attain; how you were the first to strew over the lifeless forms of punishment the living germs from which sprang new life, remorse, and amendment. You will believe me when I say that no mere idle curiosity, but heartfelt sympathy, impelled me to make the acquaintance of so remarkable a character. I will even confess that I trembled lest I should find your person did not harmonize with the ideal I had formed." She paused, and once more gazed long and earnestly into Cornelia's eyes; then bent towards her and pressed a kiss upon her brow. "Thank God that I now dare love you in reality, as I have already done in fancy!"

"Your Highness," began Cornelia, deeply moved as she sought for words, while her bosom rose and fell more rapidly, "I know I do not deserve what you say; and yet a blissful content, for which I can find no expression, overflows my whole nature. You see me in the light that streams from yourself; but its rays fall upon my soul also, and wake their concealed powers of good, which fill me with pride,--not for what I have done, but for what I shall accomplish. God knows I performed these works of mercy without any desire or hope of recognition. I have long supposed I labored wholly unobserved; but there is so great a recompense in this moment that it would crown the toil of a whole life; and I will struggle all my life to deserve it."

"You are enthusiastic, my child; but this very enthusiasm makes you what you are; so I will accept the flattery contained in your words as the tribute every noble soul offers to the ideal towards which we all strive."

"Oh, not as that alone, your Highness! Deign to accept the childlike, humble reverence of a heart which has long looked up to you as the noblest of women. I know not whether I ought to express in words what has been hovering upon my lips ever since the first moment of our meeting. It might, perhaps, be a great offense against etiquette, but I hope your Highness will regard the essence rather than the form."

"I hope you will do me the honor to be assured of it," interposed Ottilie, with a smile.

"Well, then, permit me to tell your Highness that I have long loved you with my whole heart."

"If that is true, my child, I rejoice to hear it. Love is a voluntary gift, which, whether deserved or not, we are always permitted to receive. I thank you for it; yes, I thank you from the inmost depths of a lonely heart."

"Ah, if you were not a princess!" murmured Cornelia, involuntarily.

"My dear child, how often I have said that myself! God has placed me in this position only to test my strength; for that which compensates others in a similar station for their secret lack of happiness--delight in splendor and grandeur, sovereignty and renown--is denied me. Nothing has any charm for me; my joys are rooted solely in the heart; and even these are sparingly meted out. The gulf which severs the princess from her subjects does not exist in my soul, and cannot separate my affection from them. I love men, respect their rights, admire their works, and thus stand ever alone upon my lofty height, consumed with vain longings, and stretching out my arms across the abyss which yawns between me and the warm hearts of humanity."

"Poor princess!" said Cornelia, earnestly.

"Yes, poor princess," replied Ottilie, her eyes resting dreamily upon Cornelia's beautiful features.

"But your Highness can taste great joys, and satisfy your benevolence by your power of benefiting so many thousands."

"Do you think so, my dear child?" asked Ottilie, with a sorrowful smile.

"That was the one thing for which I always envied princes," continued Cornelia, "which always made sovereignty appear so beautiful, so alluring."

"And the thought tempted me, too," said Ottilie, lowering her voice to a scarcely audible whisper, "when I allowed myself to be wedded to the prince; but I was disappointed, as I have been in so many other things. Believe me, my child, it is sad to be compelled to look an helplessly, while the right way of making a nation happy is earnestly sought, but always missed. The prince's views are so immovable, and so entirely opposed to my own, that I have given up the effort to exert any influence whatever for the welfare of my country, although my heart bleeds for it. I know that no good can come for either party; I see a time approaching when the dissension will increase to such a degree that one or the other must fall a victim. I shall not live to see it; if I am anxious, it is only for my subjects, my husband, and--perhaps my children," she paused. "God grant that I may not be denied the opportunity of teaching them a better understanding of their times!"

"But cannot the joyful blessings of the many to whom your Highness gives special aid offer you some compensation?"

"Even this is limited. Every one who makes his narrow circle happy in his own way receives more pleasure from his efforts than I: the princess lacks the power of immediate bestowal and reception; but this directness is the source of all the joys of the soul. If you, my child, do good according to your circumstances, you will be rewarded a thousandfold more than I, though I should give a thousand times more. The poor man, whose sufferings you instantly relieve, can show you his joy; it is not only the alms, but your manner of bestowing them, that console him, and the tears sparkling in his eyes certainly reward you far more than I am recompensed by the official addresses of thanks and humble bows of delegates from whole parishes I have saved from misery. I am well aware that we should not perform charitable works for the sake of gratitude, nor do I; but it is so natural to be cheered by the success of a good deed, the same sympathy which induces us to alleviate the sorrows of others makes us long to spare the joys we have prepared. This is denied me; etiquette always stands between me and the hearts of my subjects, and with its icy breath transforms every voluntary show of feeling into the unvarying mien of reverence. You see, my child, the halo your imagination spread around sovereignty is vanishing more and more." She paused, and her large, tearful eyes gazed sorrowfully at Cornelia. "I shall depend upon your well-known greatness of soul to communicate the purport of this conversation to no one."

"I thank you for your confidence, your Highness, and will justify it."

"I believe you," said Ottilie. "And now let me proceed to the principal matter. I do so with a heavy heart, for fondly as I have become attached to you, I must now make a proposal whose acceptance will deprive me of your society, because it depends upon your leaving the city. But I have learned to sacrifice my own wishes for the welfare of others, and will not be so selfish as to claim your presence here when it may prove the salvation of so many unfortunates."

Cornelia gazed at Ottilie in speechless expectation. She felt afraid, for she had gathered nothing from the princess's words except an intention to send her out of the city.

Ottilie clasped Cornelia's hand with evident emotion, and continued: "I have founded in T----, whose lovely scenery seemed peculiarly adapted for it, an institution for the reformation of female criminals, who, on being discharged from the custody of the law, perhaps wholly destitute of means, and alone in the world, would be led to enter the path of wrong anew in order to escape hunger and despair. The idea is not new; it has already been attempted in Germany many times, usually with very indifferent success. All such undertakings require not only money, skillful and conscientious management, and carefully watched exercises, but a genial spirit and loving heart to breathe life into the empty forms, and rouse in the penitents themselves an impulse of repentance, for whose development the peace prevailing in the institution, the pious exercises, and useful occupations will afford a suitable soil. But how many women are there who unite to the highest qualities of the heart a sound understanding, and are noble enough to devote them to such a purpose? You, Cornelia, are such a being; you possess the requisite grandeur of soul and self-denial, and your heart beats warmly for the moral sufferings and infirmities of mankind: you have already proved it. Do you now understand what I wish to ask of you? You shall secure blessings and prosperity for my subjects, you shall receive the position of directress of the institution at T----, and I am sure that this sphere of influence among the poor wanderers of your own sex will suit you far better than to associate with the rude, degraded men in the prison."

Cornelia looked down. "I see with painful confusion," she began, at last, "how greatly your Highness has over-rated me, and how little I deserve the favor you have permitted to fall to my lot in consequence of these expectations. Will your Highness most graciously permit me to correct the last opinion you expressed, that I must prefer to associate with female criminals rather than with men. I feel far less sympathy and interest for a guilty woman; for she has much less excuse than a man. He is created stronger and more ungovernable by nature, therefore his passions must be more violent, his desires fiercer, his acts and thoughts ruder, more energetic, while the moral support given him is not proportionally greater than that of the woman. On the contrary, the moral instincts are more vivid in the latter, and her moral horizon more contracted. How much worse, then, must she be, to sink into crimes which often have no foundation in her nature! No doubt, woman is also the cause of many crimes,--or rather womanly weaknesses; yet these are as repulsive to me as the crimes committed at the expense of all womanly feeling."

"That is a very harsh judgment," Ottilie interposed.

"I am not harsh, your Highness; I condemn such feeble creatures less, but I have not sufficient sympathy, even for them, to be able to devote myself to them with the necessary self-sacrifice. Besides, I should be unable to believe that my efforts in their behalf would be attended with sufficient success, for the same weakness that permitted them to fall into sin would, it true, make them easily susceptible to repentance, but expose them just as readily to any evil influence as soon as they were left to themselves."

"That may unfortunately be true in many cases. But are you not attracted towards the poor creatures who have fallen victims to the highest earthly power,--who have erred through love?"

Cornelia started, and a deep blush suffused her face; she knew not why. Her conscience was pure, and yet she could not bear the clear, penetrating glance of the princess. Why did she feel so startled by that word? Why did the look that accompanied it weigh upon her brow like a secret sentence? Surely she had not erred through love, but she had not been heedful of appearances. Suppose Ottilie judged by appearances, and had spoken with a meaning? Oh, that she could banish this treacherous blush! Must it not seem to Ottilie the token of a bad conscience? She could not bear that. She raised her head and looked the princess steadily in the face.

"Your Highness, the law does not punish the errors of love; but if a woman falls so low that she commits from love crimes which make her amenable to the law, she becomes as detestable to me as all others. You see I lack the first requisite for the vocation your Highness did me the honor to propose,--the true Christian charity which does not judge but pardons."

"But which has already been so touchingly proved by your care for the prisoners of state," replied Ottilie. "I will not be indiscreet, but I cannot help remarking that the reason you have just given cannot be the only one which withholds you from a vocation of Christian charity you have hitherto voluntarily chosen, under circumstances far more favorable to you; for your labors in my institution would not only secure you every pecuniary advantage you could ask,--not only win gratifying success with those intrusted to your care,--but make you famous in the eyes of the would. Your ambition, if you possess any, would also obtain the most brilliant satisfaction abroad the name and spirit of Cornelia Erwing could soar away from the pleasant work- and prayer-rooms of the institution far more easily than through the gloomy, impenetrable dungeon-walls of the prison."

"Oh, your Highness, pardon the freedom of my words!" said Cornelia, with noble pride; "but you now undervalue as much as you lately overrated me. Does your Highness really suppose that these prospects could induce me to prefer laboring in the institution at T---- to my present sphere of influence in the prison? Do you imagine a pecuniary advantage I do not even need, or ambition for the cheaply-bought fame of being a Good Samaritan, which every hypocrite can obtain, would induce me to do anything to which my own feelings did not urge me? No, your Highness, you cannot think so meanly of one to whom, a few moments ago, you condescended to show the greatest favor. I have no other motive for my actions than my heart. In this alone is rooted my strength or my weakness, as you may choose to term it,--perhaps my selfishness. But all selfishness that arises solely from calculating reason is foreign to my nature; therefore, when I tell you that my heart does not draw me to the Christian work in T----, your Highness may be assured that no worldly advantage would lead me to it; yet, if the contrary were the case, I would joyfully renounce every material reward."

"I believe you," said Ottilie; "but may I ask what has so strongly attracted you towards the prisoners?"

"Here, also, I only followed the impulse of my own feelings. Love for one of them led me accidentally to the scene of his misery. Love for the individual taught me to understand and pity the sorrows of his companions. Ordinary crimes would have terrified me and filled me with horror. I should have been as little inclined to aid in reforming a debased man as a base woman, but at that time the prisoners were principally political criminals. The idea for which most of them had struggled and erred, to which my father and my dead lover were martyrs, was necessarily sacred to my heart; and although I admit that it may have been erroneous,--even pernicious in the extremes and manner in which they strove to establish it,--I could neither condemn nor abhor those who had suffered for the same conviction to which my father had sacrificed himself. At first I employed my efforts only in behalf of the political prisoners. An accident, however, made me acquainted with a--as people usually say--'common murderer'; and I found in him a weak-minded, but thoroughly noble man, who had been driven by the force of circumstances to do what is recognized among all nations, not only as a right, but a duty; he punished the tempter of his betrothed bride!" She paused a moment, while again a deep blush suffused her face.

Ottilie, too, blushed slightly, and murmured, "I know the particulars of the occurrence."

"That convinced me," continued Cornelia, "how many good and evil powers can exist in the broad breast of a man at the same time,--how mighty the impulses often are to commit crimes which arise in his life; and from that moment I went into the cells of all who justified this view."

"And were there many of them?" asked Ottilie.

"No, your Highness. With the exception of the political prisoners, at the utmost only or five among a hundred and twelve; but these few were sufficient to confirm my assertion."

"And among a hundred female convicts, would you not perhaps find four or five deserving of your sympathy?"

"Very possibly, your Highness; but I could not devote myself only to these: I should be compelled to care for the many wicked creatures who could only arouse my loathing and abhorrence. I have always considered my labors in the prison as an episode, and only employed a few hours of the day in them; but here I should be compelled to devote my whole time--nay, my life--to a vocation which could not satisfy me. I am not one of those persons who do anything systematically, who make the work of mercy a trade,--a mechanical, daily occupation,--in which, through habit, they become so dull that they scarcely feel the blessing of their labors. I wish to perform it freely and earnestly, whenever and wherever I find an opportunity: and whose destiny does not afford one? I do not even want you to be obliged to make it for me,--it must come as a revelation from the inmost heart of life; and when I seize upon it, it must be a quick, joyful deed, gushing full and warm from the depths of a loving breast. Thus alone can it make me and others happy; thus alone can I practice charity."

Ottilie clasped Cornelia's hand, and gazed into her eyes with increasing delight.

"This may be selfish," the latter continued, "but it is natural, and I cannot make myself different from what I am. I want events, emotions, and--love. I want art pleasures. I feel the pulsations of an ever-advancing civilization throbbing within me, and am ennobled by my enthusiasm for everything beautiful which it has created. With this tide of life swelling in my breast, I cannot bury myself behind the walls of an institution for penitents,--cannot turn my delighted eyes from the loftiest model of human greatness to fix them forever upon the lowest caricatures of depravity. In the monotony of such a life I should die of longing for the warm human love which has hitherto streamed forth from the noble hearts that surrounded me. I see no moral obligation to do so, for I am proud enough, your Highness, to believe that God has destined me to make a good and noble being happy. Does it not seem to your Highness far more beautiful to devote a life to this purpose, rather than allow it to wither away in an institution for the reformation of degraded creatures?"

Cornelia had scarcely ended when she found herself clasped in Ottilie's arms.

"Forgive me," said the princess, with deep emotion. "I have esteemed you highly, but not known you; now I understand you. You shall hear no more from me of an expectation so ill suited to your character. You are born for higher things; you belong to the great band of those who are appointed to restore the ideal balance of the world. You are right. Fate allots to each his sphere of labor, and you are to make the happiness of an equally gifted nature. To seek to withdraw you from this object would be committing a wrong against him for whom God created you; and, in truth, he must love the man to whom he has given you for a companion." Again a short pause followed. "Let those for whom life has no longer any hopes, whom it has robbed of all the heart of woman needs, devote themselves to the vocation I have mentioned. For you many great joys and duties are still reserved,--but do not deceive yourself, perhaps many sorrows also."

"Oh, I have never blinded myself to that!" replied Cornelia. "I do not fear them. No one is spared, and what all suffer will not be too heavy for me."

"It is easy for us to say so. God grant you may be spared the hours when we doubt our own strength! Shall I be frank?" she asked, with sudden resolution; and then continued, without waiting for a reply, "I thought I could guard you from such sorrows when I selected you for the position at T----. I believed you to be under dangerous influences, and as I had become deeply interested in you from the descriptions I had heard, thought it any duty to constitute myself your protectress. But I now feel ashamed in your presence, for I am convinced that you are too noble to need my protection; you have the best support in yourself. It depends upon you to make the power that will be exerted over you beneficial or otherwise, and I know now it will be the former."

"Oh, your Highness," cried Cornelia, her eyes dim with tears, "I thank you for those words! But I beseech you not to overvalue me at the expense of another whose influence I have thus far felt as one rich in blessing. I should despise myself if I did not gratefully remember all the beauty and goodness I have received through the very intercourse you feared for me. Least of all, your Highness, could I bear to see the heart which is the dearest thing on earth to me misunderstood by you." She was silent in alarm. Ottilie coughed and pressed her handkerchief to her lips, then removed it and looked at Cornelia with a smile. Cornelia could not speak: she was gasping for breath; she had seen blood on the transparent folds.

"Do you suppose," Ottilie began, as quietly as if nothing had happened,--"do you really suppose I misunderstand this heart? Ah, no! But I see its faults, and wished to warn you of them. God knows whether he has a truer friend than I. As long as he lived at my court in H---- I devoted the most kindly care to him; but my influence was too weak. Perhaps the blissful task of ennobling him is assigned to her whom he loves. May God bless and strengthen you for this work! And of whatever nature the faults you will discover in the course of time may be, beware of them; but do not let yourself be discouraged, they are only the goblin shapes of his twofold nature, which will melt into nothing as soon as your pure, noble spirit is united to his better self. Bear with him faithfully, for he will love you as he never did any one, and must be utterly wretched without you!"

She rose. Her cheeks glowed, and her eyes again beamed with the unearthly expression of a spirit about to take its flight from the earth.

Cornelia kissed her hand with deep emotion. "Your Highness, I stand before you as if in the presence of the guardian angel of my betrothed, and take a solemn vow that nothing shall part me from him except himself! I knew his faults before his good qualities, and they were so great they made me forget the latter. I began by despising, and ended by loving him; and if I should lose faith in him again I should die!"

"Oh, my child, we outlive a great deal! May God protect you and him! Farewell. Remember me kindly until I can see you again." She dismissed Cornelia with a warm embrace. "He will not corrupt her; she will save him," she murmured. "My God, I thank thee!"

"Are you come at last?" cried a well-known voice, as Cornelia entered the room. "Where have you been? I have been waiting for you an hour."

"And you are so much accustomed to have me devote myself entirely to you," said Cornelia, as she laid her hat and shawl aside, "that you are angry because I have given even a few hours to some one else." She sat down beside him, drew back his head, and gazed with winning tenderness into his clouded face. "Must I ask whether you have come to-day as a schoolmaster or a lover? The book lying beside you, and your stern manner, predict the former; but I must confess that I have no mind to give to anything except the wonderful event of this day."

"Well, what has happened to you?" asked Heinrich, resting his head upon her shoulder. "Tell me."

"I have just come from the princess."

Heinrich started up in astonishment.

"She offered me the position of directress at T----."

"Ah, she wanted to get you out of the City! She is jealous," he murmured.

"Oh, how meanly you think of that noble soul! She had other reasons which I cannot discuss more particularly and indeed, Heinrich, she is an angel!"

"What answer did you make to her proposal?"

"I rejected it."

"There I see my own Cornelia."

"Oh, is this the first time you understand me? I think you ought to have done so before."

"You are right; you have already made greater sacrifices,--if it is a sacrifice you are making for me."

"Of course it is. I do not know whether I might not have accepted Ottilie's proposal if, after Veronica's death, I had been left alone with my heart full of philanthropic enthusiasm and without your love."

"In any case, you would have been committing a great piece of folly."

"According to your ideas, but not mine. You will never believe how much happiness the good we do to others can bestow; and yet you are not happy, although all your life you have lived only for yourself."

Heinrich sat with his eyes fixed upon the floor.

"Believe me, dearest, the benefits we confer upon others recoil upon ourselves, as well as the wrongs we inflict upon them; and as often as, mindful only of our own advantage, we are compelled to injure others, so often we shall reap a curse instead of a blessing."

Heinrich's eyes were still more gloomy.

"He who wishes to grasp and keep happiness solely for himself will find it quickly fade, as we cannot make a flower our own by plucking it and placing it in the breast; it will only gladden us a few minutes, and then wither uselessly. Only when you plant happiness in the soil of other hearts, and share their joys, will it bear flowers and fruits for you. The law of multiplication does not merely extend through the material, but the spiritual world. All the elements of our being are united in us, and in this unity they collect their strength, but are intended to be scattered abroad when they develop, so luxuriantly that we can no longer seek the limits of our being within the narrow bounds of our own hearts, but in the wide sphere of our beneficent influence. The egotist never knows the satisfaction found in the execution of every great or insignificant law of the universe, for he shuts himself mentally within himself, and draws the juices from the soil which he is rooted without ever enriching it. He believes it well to receive without giving, and yet feels withered within. He does not understand himself, bitterly accuses the world and destiny which have thus insulated and placed him in a false position, and does not perceive that the blessing he vainly expected from others ought to have emanated from himself!"

Heinrich started up. "Yes, my Cornelia, in many instances you have hit the mark wonderfully. But, believe me, my child, the sphere in which I live is not adapted to that beneficent expansion of self. It is, in reality, a sphere of egotism, in which one must greedily cling to his own advantage if he would not have it torn from him. There is no individual connection between us diplomats, we are only united by our functions as constituent parts of the great mechanism which drives the machinery of the government; and neither can the heart develop warm benevolence when one has accustomed himself to look upon nations merely as the material to be manufactured by this machinery into a well-regulated whole. Imagine the feelings of a man, a statesman. You speak of diffusing his own character abroad: I know what you understand by it; it is all very noble and beautiful for the philanthropic members of the masses, but it is the duty of statesmen to guide and govern the populace, and we must not mingle among those we rule. We, too, devote our strength to them, but we associate a more abstract idea with the word than you sanguine philanthropists. You understand it to mean only the people, but we the government, the law, the extension of the interests of trade, the protection of the highest interests in foreign countries,--in short, everything upon which the prosperity of a country depends. To you the nation has a personal, to us only a political, individuality; you are incessantly caring for its position towards the throne, but we for its position towards the world!" He looked at Cornelia, who was hanging upon his words in breathless expectation. "Well, my Cornelia, do we not both live for the whole,--each in our own way?"

"There are your sophisms again, against which my natural intuition strives with so much difficulty. I confess that none of your words have made any other impression than the sorrowful one of self-deception. Heinrich! Heinrich! what will become of you if you accustom yourself to make sport of truth? You have described how a statesman thinks and feels, but not how you think and feel. Of course, there are statesmen who have the welfare of the people at heart; but such men cannot live in a country like this, or they must be short-sighted enough to see happiness in despotism. But you are not so blind. Heinrich, you understand the conditions of a higher national development, and know you are working against it; you are sinning against the most sacred rights of humanity, yet say you are laboring for the whole. What do you understand by this word? To you it is merely an empty sound; for that which gives it life and meaning to us, anxiety for the common welfare, is unknown to you. Do not say you live for the state, if not for the people! Is there a state without a nation? Establish one with ideas instead of men; govern these, and you will have the same reason to boast of your labors for 'the whole.'"

"You are becoming violent and unjust, my Cornelia."

"It always makes me indignant when I see you palliating such faults as these. I can forgive the worst offense if frankly confessed and recognized, but to a palliated error I am unrelenting. Forgive me, if I was violent," she pleaded, clinging fondly to him. "Come, kiss me; you are so cold to-day." She drew him nearer her as they sat on the sofa. "Let us talk quietly; I feel more anxious to discuss this subject fully to-day than ever before. You love power. The impulse of asserting itself is associated with every important endowment; it is a stimulus for it to develop and become of value to the world. Nothing is more just and natural than that you should feel it also. But in you it has taken a false direction; you perceive power only in your present position. But what power? It was voluntarily placed in your hands from above, and arbitrarily endured by the nation; so it is a purely external one, without change of action or spiritual echo. You are conscious of it yourself only by the possibility of having your will executed by means of a few strokes of the pen on a sheet of paper, and extending it further than is permitted to the private citizen. Accident has given you this power, accident may deprive you of it again; therefore it neither makes you happy nor satisfies you. There is only one real pleasure of that nature,--mastery over minds; this can neither be given to us nor taken away, we must win and retain it by our own strength. And what pride can be more noble than that we take in the result of our own merits? Cease to be a machine among machines, and become conscious of the privileges of independent effort; be at least a man among men. Leave your present residence and return to your former home; go into the Chambers, there your intellect and personal magnetism will produce a great effect upon the multitude; there you will first learn to know the manifold charms to be found in such a direct subjugation of minds! Descend from your false height, and let yourself be borne by the hands of the people to the summit of a powerfully increasing development of civilization. You have hitherto served a prince, while you gave laws to the nation; you can henceforth give orders to a prince, while you are a king in the hearts of the people." She rested her cheek against his, and asked, with loving emotion, "Does not this prospect charm you?"

"If all this could be done in reality as easily as in your vivid fancy, my glorious Cornelia, it might well charm me. But I am a practical man; I shall not resign a secure and brilliant position to, perhaps, obtain nothing except the favor of miserable proletarians, or cast aside the moral and political credit I possess, with the probability of losing, by another change of opinion, all trust here and elsewhere! You cannot ask that of me. Let him who has nothing at stake make the desperate venture, but I have not only the advantage but the honor of an established career to lose."

"Honor and advantage,--but happiness? Oh, Heinrich! you have no happiness to lose, for you have never possessed any; and you will only save your honor before yourself and God when you begin a new life. So what do you risk? I do not ask you to proclaim your change of opinion at once to all the world. Leave the service of the government, withdraw to your estates, and live there as a private citizen; win the sympathies of the whole neighborhood, and come forth from your seclusion as a deputy. How can you be threatened with any loss of honor? Be assured the world is not so degenerate as to refuse its esteem for an honest action. You will not fall here, you will voluntarily resign your brilliant position for the sake of your convictions: a manly deed which demands and will receive recognition. Your former party will hail you with joy, and trust you on account of the sacrifice you made to return to it; and in a short time you will have obtained all you now think one of my fantastic ideas. Oh, believe me, I see clearly the path you must choose,--the only one that will lead to happiness!"

Heinrich released himself from Cornelia's encircling arms, and, starting up, went to the window and leaned his brow thoughtfully against the panes. Cornelia watched him in silence. She left him entirely to himself, for she knew he was inaccessible to tenderness when anything occupied his mind. This was the mood to which she had found it so difficult to accustom herself, and now it appeared especially harsh. Suddenly he turned, took up his hat, and kissed Cornelia on the forehead. "Farewell!"

"Heinrich!" she exclaimed, "are you going already? Have I offended you so deeply?"

"Not offended, but you have given me much food for thought; roused a new conflict within me. Leave me to myself to-day."

"Why especially to-day? What does that mean?"

"You will learn when the time comes."

"Another secret! Oh, Heinrich! You never share anything with me except your tenderness and the poetic effusions of your vivid imagination. I am shut out from your intellectual life, and know nothing of it except what my own penetration enables me to guess."

"Do not be angry, my child; sooner or later a time will come when there will no longer be anything between us, when you will obtain possession of my whole existence." With these words he kissed her again, and left the room without looking back.

"Sooner or later a time must come, when--" Cornelia repeated the words. A roseate flush of joy suffused the grave face. Was not the end of her humiliation approaching? Was--she scarcely ventured to confess what sweet, proud hopes these words aroused. Why had her conversation made so strange an impression upon him? Her heart throbbed expectantly: would her fate perhaps be decided that day?

It was decided. Heinrich's inmost soul had been stirred by Cornelia's ideas. The thought of playing a great part in the Chamber, of joining the new and undeniably strong movement, charmed him. He could find more change, more excitement, in this path than in the worn-out interests of his court life, and possibly even attain the object of his ambition,--the portfolio. He could marry Cornelia, noble, beautiful girl, without injury to his plans; nay, she would even be necessary to him in this career. Perhaps he might yet be a happy man. If the prince did not take him into the ministry, there was nothing better for him to do than to exchange the worn-out old life for a new one; and by the time he reached home he almost wished it. As he entered his room, absorbed in thought, Anton handed him a paper. He started as he read it,--it was his nomination as minister of foreign affairs. The die was cast.