ingle moment?

Yet she had perhaps deserved a farewell kiss.

"Sit with my uncle in the coach, Pepi," said Lorand to the dandy, "with
me you might risk your life. I might turn you over into the ditch
somewhere and break your neck. And it would be a pity for such a
promising youth."

Lorand sprang up onto the seat and took the reins in his hands.

"Well, adieu, Czipra!"--The coach went first, the wagon following.

Czipra stood at the street-door and gazed from there at the disappearing
youth, as long as she could see him, resting her head sadly against the
doorpost.

But he did not glance back once.

He was going at a gallop towards his doom.

And when evening overtakes the travelers, and the night's million lights
have appeared, and the tiny glowworms are twinkling in the ditches and
hedges, the young fellow will have time enough to think on that theme:
that eternal law rules alike over the worlds and the atoms--but what is
the fate of the intermediate worms? that of the splendid fly? that of
ambitious men and nations struggling for their existence? "Fate gives
justice into the two hands of the evil one, that while with the right he
extinguishes his life, with the left he may stifle the soul."

CHAPTER XIX

FANNY

Some wise man, who was a poet too, once said: "the best fame for a woman
is to have no fame at all." I might add: "the best life history is that,
which has no history."

Such is the romance of Fanny's life and of mine.

Eight years had passed since they brought a little girl from
Fuersten-Allee to take my place: the little girl had grown into a big
girl,--and was still occupying my place.

How I envied her those first days, when I had to yield my place to her,
that place veiled with holy memories in our family's mourning circle, in
mother's sorrowing heart; and how I blessed fate, that I was able to
fill that place with her.

My career led me to distant districts, and every year I could spend but
a month or two at home; mother would have aged, grandmother have grown
mad from the awful solitude had Heaven not sent a guardian angel into
their midst.

How much I have to thank Fanny for.

For every smile of mother's face, for every new day of grandmother's
life--I had only Fanny to thank.

Every year when I returned for the holidays I found long-enduring happy
peace at home.

Where everyone had so much right every day madly to curse fate, mankind,
the whole world; where sorrow sho