ical dream. A new world seemed to
open to her. She felt how poor and bare her life had been, how deserted
by these gracious creatures of the imagination, how unblessed by the
purest, the truest art--the art of pathos and of love.

With the streaks of dawn that stole into the chamber she was conscious
of an irrepressible desire that took possession of her to rise and go
forth. An irresistible power seemed to draw her to follow: she rose,
and, dressing herself in such clothes as were at hand, she went out.

The house itself was quite still, but faintly in the distance might be
heard the sound of a bell. In so religious a Court as that of Vienna
there were private chapels attached to most of the houses of the
nobility, and there was one attached to a neighbouring palace, to which
there was a private communication with the _Hotel_ taken by the Prince.

Following the sound of the bell the Princess traversed several passages,
and reached at last a staircase, down which she turned. As she reached
the first landing two women came out from an open door. They started at
the sight of the Princess. They were the Princess Isoline and Faustina.

"Is it you, Princess?" said the former. "What has called you up so
early?"

"Are you going to the chapel, Isoline?" said the Princess. "May I come
with you?"

+ + + + +

The three ladies entered the chapel by a private door, which led them to
a pew behind the stalls. Upon the original Gothic stone-work and tracery
of the chapel, which was very old, had been introduced rococo work in
mahogany and brass, angels and trumpets and scrolls. The stalls and
organs were covered with filigree work of this description, the windows
filled with paintings in the same florid and incongruous taste. There
were few persons in the chapel, most of them being ladies from the
adjoining palaces, together with a few musicians, for the musical part
of the service was carefully performed by a large and well-paid staff.

Two of the ladies were Protestant, the third, Faustina, a Catholic of a
very undeveloped type; but the music of the Mass spoke a mysterious
language, recognisable to hearts of every creed.

Before the altar, laden with gilded plate and lighted with candles in
silver sconces, the priest said Mass. Above him, in the window, painted
in a lovely Italian landscape full of figures, with towns and castles
and mountain ranges and market-people with horses and cattle, were
represented, in careful and