should be attributed to her. I have found at
last a woman too generous to be mistrustful, too fond to wait for the
world's advantages, and, moreover, untainted by the breath of your
conventionalities, and pride, and cant."

Virginia threw back her head with a curl on her lip. "You are mad, as I
said before. I suppose you do not expect me to countenance your
infatuation?"

He shrugged his shoulder. "Really, whether you do or not is perfectly
immaterial to me."

Virginia was silent, pale with anger, for they were all (pardonably
enough) proud. She turned with a sneer to Josephine, a younger and less
decided woman, just entering. "Josephine, you are come in time to be
congratulated on your sister-in-law."

"Is it true?" murmured Josephine, aghast. "Oh! my dear Waldemar, pause;
consider how dreadful for us--a person who is so horribly connected;
the man's beer wagon is now standing at the door. Oh, do reflect--a
girl, whose name is before the public----"

"By talent that would grace a queen!" interrupted Waldemar, rising
impatiently. "You waste your words; you might know that I am not so weak
as to give up my sole chance of happiness to please your pitiful
prejudices."

"Very well. _I_ shall never speak to her," said Virginia, between her
teeth.

"That you will do as you please; you will be the loser."

"But, Waldemar, do consider," began Josephine.

"Your women's tongues would drive a man mad," muttered Falkenstein.
"Tell me where my father is."

"In his study," answered Virginia briefly. And in his study Falkenstein
found him. He saw at once that something was wrong by his reception; but
he plunged at once into his affairs, showing him plainly his position,
and asking him frankly for help to discharge his debts.

Count Ferdinand heard him in silence. "Waldemar," he answered, after a
long pause, "you shall have all you wish. I will sign you a check for
the amount this instant if you give me your word to break off this
miserable affair."

Falkenstein's cheek flushed with annoyance; he had expected sympathy
from his father, or at least toleration. "That is impossible. You ask me
to give up the one thing that binds me to life--the one love I have
given me--the one chance of redeeming the future, that lies in my grasp.
I am not a boy led away by a passing caprice. I have known and tried
everything, and I can judge what will make my happiness. What
unfortunate prejudice have you all formed against my poor little