professors of philosophy who
have done the most absurd things."

"No, no, no!" she said earnestly, gazing down at the wet gravel, over
which she was lightly walking. "You don't understand it. You and I are
made of very different material. Can you understand why the little fish
are better off down in that dark water, than if you bade them to the
most luxurious couch of lilies and rose leaves? Every creature lives in
its own element, and perishes in an alien one. Don't you see, that I
too can philosophize?"

She paused, and for some time walked thoughtfully beside him, while the
solemn boy following some twenty paces behind under a large umbrella,
trod carefully in the dainty footprints made by his young mistress. The
carriage waited in the avenue beyond.

At last she paused a moment, looked him full in the face with a
mischievous expression in her large dark eyes, and said: "Before I
betray to whom you have given your arm, Won't you tell me what you have
taken me for?"

"I would not hesitate a moment," he answered smiling, "but indeed you
wrong me. Because I have confessed myself a philosopher, you believe me
foolish enough always to fancy things different from what they appear.
Thank God, I understand my own interests better. I'm glad when I
encounter something which banishes thought, and allows me to dream, as
when I listen to beautiful music, enjoy a spring day, or the fragrance
of clusters of roses. My thoughts--why should I deny it?--have been
very much engrossed by you, perhaps more than was well. But the idea of
imputing any blame to you has never occurred to me."

She laughed. "You're only evading the question. But no matter what good
or evil qualities you have attributed to me: I am neither an
aristocratic lady, nor an adventuress, but the very prosaic child of
'poor but honest parents.' Do you remember, in your boyhood, hearing of
a ballet dancer on the Berlin stage called Marchand? But how should
you? My father--he was a Frenchman--was still in the prime of life,
when he had an unlucky fall from a flying trapeze, which forever shut
him out from the field of his art, with all its joys and honors. He
took this so much to heart, that he never wished to see or hear of the
theatre, and voluntarily retired into exile in a miserable little abode
in the Mark. Here he married my mother, and had three daughters beside
the oldest, myself. One died young, but the two others married worthy
burghers and became happy w