very fond."

The Judge's cheek grew crimson as he read the note, which he did not
show to his wife.

"An extremely polite and interesting person," said he; "I will
immediately answer it."

"Ernst," said Elise, "should we not invite her to dinner to-morrow? I
thought of something very nice, which is sure to succeed; then we could
go altogether to the concert, and afterwards she might sup with us."

"Now that is a good idea, and I thank you for it, my sweet Elise," said
he, extremely pleased.

Yes, if the Colonel's widow had not been there--if the Candidate had not
been there--and if there had been no _if_ in the case, all might have
gone on quite smoothly. But it was quite otherwise.

CHAPTER IX.

ONE SWALLOW MAKES NO SUMMER.

Too many chaotic elements had collected together in the family of the
Franks for one sun-gleam to dissipate. Even the married pair did not
clearly understand their own actions.

The Judge, truly, was too much enchanted by his former beloved one; and
the beautiful Emelie did all that was in her power to enslave again her
early adorer.

Judge Frank, who would have been as cold and proud as possible, if he
had been assailed by coarse and direct flattery, was yet by no means
steeled against the refined and almost imperceptible flattery of Emelie,
who, with all her peculiar gifts of soul and understanding, made herself
subordinate to him, in order to be enlightened and instructed by him.

"An extraordinarily amiable and interesting lady," thought he still with
greater animation, although he seldom asserted so much; and exactly in
the proportion in which he found Emelie interesting, it was natural that
he should find Elise less so, especially as he found in Emelie precisely
those very qualities, the want of which he had so much regretted in his
wife; namely, an interest in his activity as a citizen, and in general
for the objects connected with which he occupied himself in the
liveliest manner.

Elise, on her part, was neither calm nor clear. The connexion between
her husband and Emelie was painful to her; and she felt a sort of
consolation from the devotion of Jacobi, even when it was beginning to
assume that passionate character which made her seriously uneasy.

A letter, which she wrote to her sister about this time, exhibits her
state of feeling:

"It is long since I wrote to you, Cecilia--I hardly know why; I hardly
know, indeed, my own feelings--all is so unquiet, so undef