"That is not true," cried Mrs. Hummel, warmly. "But if it were, Henry--even if you could judge him utterly unworthy,--do not forget that pride and a feeling of duty dwell in the heart of your wife, and that your suspicion is an insult to these protecting genii."

"She is a coquettish, silly flirt," replied Hummel, dragging his slippers from under his bed.

Mrs. Hummel started back horrified.

"Your wife has not deserved this treatment. You tread under foot what should be holy to you. Come to your senses, I conjure you; your jealousy approaches to madness."

"I jealous of such a person!" cried Hummel, contemptuously, vehemently knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Then I must indeed be out of my mind. Leave me in peace with all this nonsense."

Mrs. Hummel seized her pocket-handkerchief and began to sob:

"He has so often amused me; he tells anecdotes as I never heard any one in my life; but if he excites you, so that you lose your reason and insult your wife by calling her names, I have made many sacrifices during our wedded life, and he also must fall on the altar of domestic peace. Accept it, he shall never again be invited."

"Who is he?" asked Hummel.

"Who but the comedian?"

"Who is she?"

"Mrs. Hummel gave him a look which showed indubitably that she herself was the lady.

"Is it possible," exclaimed Hummel in astonishment, "that is how the land lies? Why do you want to slaughter your theatrical buffoon on the altar of domestic peace? Rather put something slaughtered before him; that would be more agreeable to his cultivated palate. Be composed, Philippine. You are often unintelligible in your speeches, and you make too much ado; you spin your theatrical webs in your head, and you have your humors and confused ideas in general; but for the rest, you are my worthy wife, of whom no evil shall be thought either by myself or others. Now do not thwart me, for I have determined to write him a letter."

While Mrs. Hummel, stupefied, seated herself on the sofa, and considered whether she should be mortified or tranquilized by her husband's praise, and whether she had been under a foolish delusion, or that her Henry's madness had taken the new form of _bonhomie_, Mr.

Hummel wrote as follows:--

"My Dear Gabriel,--Yesterday, on the 17th of this month, at 7.45 in the evening, I saw, on bench No. 4, on the common, Dorothy from over the way sitting with Knips junior. This is for warning and further consideration. I am ready to act according to your orders. Straw, Gabriel!--Your affectionate H. Hummel."

By the same post a letter flew from Laura to Ilse in the Pavilion. The faithful soul wrote sorrowfully. The little quarrels of the house and the neighborhood vexed her more than was necessary. Of the Doctor she saw little, and what was the bitterest grief for her, she had given away the last song; she had nothing more to send to the Doctor, and wished to continue the correspondence without inclosures. Ilse was greatly surprised by one sentence, the sense of which was not very clear to her: "I have obtained permission from Miss Jeannette to give lessons in her inst.i.tution. I will no longer be a useless bread-eater.

Since I have lost your society all is cold and desolate about me. My only comfort is, that I at least am prepared to fly into foreign parts, and there collect the grains which I need for the prolongation of my life."

"Where is my husband?" asked Ilse, of her maid.

"The Professor has gone to her Highness, the Princess."

"Call Gabriel."

"He has received bad news, and is sitting in his room."

Immediately afterwards Gabriel entered, with a distressed countenance.

"What has happened?" asked Ilse, alarmed.

"It is my own affair only," replied Gabriel, with quivering voice; "it is no good news that this letter has brought to me."

He took out of his pocket Hummel's crumpled letter, and turning away, leaned his head against the window-sill.

"Poor Gabriel!" exclaimed Ilse. "But there may still be some explanation to justify the girl."

"I thank you for your confidence in her, Mrs. Werner," replied Gabriel, solemnly, "but this letter informs me of my misfortune. He who has written to me is true as gold. But I knew all, before I had received it. She did not answer my last letter; she has not sent me the pocket-book; and yesterday evening, when I went out and was thinking of her, a lark flew towards me and sang a song that made me certain of it."

"That is folly, Gabriel, You ought not to let your judgment be influenced because a bird accidentally occasioned you sorrowful thoughts."

"It was evident, Mrs. Werner," replied Gabriel, sorrowfully. "Just as the lark flew up and I was thinking of Dorothy, the words which I heard as a child and which I have not heard since, occurred to me. It is no superst.i.tion, and I can repeat the sentence to you:

'Lark, dear lark, high o'er the smoke, What new thing have you to tell me?'

This thought came to me, and then I heard, as distinctly as if some one was whispering the answer in my ear:

'Two lovers sat near a hazel-bush, The third was crying and moaning; The two pa.s.s the threshold of Hymen's house, The third sits alone and mourns a spouse.'"

Gabriel took out his pocket-handkerchief.

"That was a certain foreboding that Dorothy had been false to me."

"Gabriel, I fear she was always fickle-minded," exclaimed Ilse.

"She has a heart like a bird," said Gabriel, apologetically. "She is not a serious person, and it is her nature to be friendly with all.

That I knew; but her gaiety, light-heartedness, and pleasant jesting made her dear to me. It was a misfortune for me and her that I was obliged to leave her just when she began to favor me and discourage others who were showing her attention. For I know that the book-keeper had long had his eyes upon her, and had prospects which would enable him to marry her, and that was a better provision than I could give her."

"Something must be done about this," said Ilse. "Do you want to go back to the city to ascertain how matters stand? My husband will immediately give you permission. Perhaps it is not so bad after all."

"For me it is as bad as it can be, Mrs. Werner. If you will have the kindness to look after Dorothy, to see that she is not made unhappy, I will thank you from my heart. I shall never see her again. If one loves any one, one should not leave them alone when they are in temptation."

Ilse endeavored to comfort him, but Gabriel's words went to her heart.

"The third sits alone," she repeated, in a tone of sorrow.

Ilse was again alone in the hall, looking sadly at the strange walls.

All the sorrow that had ever moved a human soul in this room, jealousy and wounded pride, feverish expectation and hopeless longing, mourning over the destruction of happiness, and terror for the future, the cries of anguish and the plaints of tormented conscience, all these now awoke an indistinct and trembling echo in the heart of the woman.

"It is strange and gloomy here, and if I try to express in words what distresses me, all power of expression fails me. I am no prisoner, and yet the air that surrounds me is that of a dungeon. The Chamberlain has not been near me for days, and the young Prince, who used to speak to me as to a friend, comes seldom, and then but for a few minutes, and it is worse than if he were not here. He is as depressed as I am, and looks at me as if he felt the same nameless anguish. And his father?

when he comes to me he is so kind that one cannot but like him; but as soon as he turns his back his features appear before my mind distorted.

It is not good to be near the great people of the world; they seem to take a fancy to one and open their heart as to friends, and one scarcely feels the elevation of mind occasioned by this, when tormenting spirits seem suddenly to draw them back into their invisible realm, and one is troubled and excited about them. Such a life is destructive of peace.

"Felix says, one ought not to care about these frivolous people. How can one avoid interest and anxiety about them when the welfare of their souls is a blessing to all?

"Is it only this that gives you such restless thoughts. Ilse?" she asked herself; "is it this, or is it pride, now wounded, and now again flattered; or is it anguish about the loved one whom she wishes secretly to tear from you?

"Why am I so fearful about you, my Felix? Why do I despair because he has found a woman here of the same stamp of mind as his own? Am I not so also? Have I too not unfolded in the light of his mind? I am no longer the ignorant country-girl that he once brought from among the herds. If I am deficient in the attractive charm of the distinguished lady, what can she give him more than I? He is no boy, and he knows that every hour I live for him. I despise you, miserable thoughts; how have you found entrance into my soul? I am no prisoner within these walls, and if I linger here where you have power over me, I remain on his account. One should not forsake him whom one loves,--that word was spoken for me also. My father's child shall not cry and mourn even though her loved one should be sitting with the Princess by the hazel-bush."

Gabriel was stealing along in a distant part of the pleasure-ground. He suddenly felt a touch on his shoulder; Prince Victor was standing behind him.

"Friend Gabriel?"