of peace, everlasting trust, and the eternal
knowledge of the truth.

"Come," he said at last, "you are ready for a walk; let us make our
bridal visits."

I took his arm, and he first led me across the passage into the
workshop of my landlord, where the good old Meister and his apprentices
stared at us, and the Fran Meisterin hearing the news, rushed into the
room, with a frying pan, which she was just going to put on the fire,
still in her hand; she loudly sang my praises, and congratulated Morrik
on having secured such a treasure as a wife, till I at last burst out
laughing through my tears. Then we walked through the town, and he now
and then entered a shop, and bought most useless things only for the
pleasure of saying, "Send it to the lodgings of my betrothed, you know
the house of the tailor, three stairs high, next door to heaven," and
he said it all with perfect gravity.

When we arrived on the Wassermauer, all the strangers were assembled as
if by appointment. The band was playing, and for the first time, it
seemed to me, that the instruments were in tune, and the musicians
keeping time.

At first I felt rather embarrassed, as all eyes were upon me, but that
soon passed off, and I was infinitely amused to see how amiable and
friendly every one had suddenly become, and how pleased I was with
them. We first turned to the life preserver, and actually something
like a tear glistened in her small unmeaning eyes when Morrik kissed
her hand and told her she was as yet the only woman who had made me
jealous. This speech procured me a gracious kiss on the forehead and
the assurance that my behaviour was to be overlooked in consideration
of my jealousy, and weak nerves. Then came the lady with her two smart
sons, the sister with her brother the poet and even the fat gentleman
with the thermometer at his button-hole. From them all we received
congratulations, and they all assured us that they had known it long
ago; to which Morrik answered that in that case they had known more
than we ourselves had done; he even joked with the little _chronique
scandaleuse_, who alone persisted in treating me with icy coldness. To
a child who offered me a bunch of violets he gave his whole purse. The
sun shone, the trumpets seemed to call the spring from its winter
sleep. And yonder in the churchyard where I had chosen a sunny little
corner for my grave, the flowers were blooming, as if after having
taught us to live, death had disa