ting circumstances, I in my weakness could derive
light and strength. I am discontented with myself; I am discontented
with----Ah! he alone it is who, if he would, could make all right!

* * * * *

"Oh, Cecilia, this is a mist-enveloped hour of my life!--does it
announce day or night? My glance is dark; I see the path no longer! But
I will resign myself into the hand of Him who said, 'let there be
light.'

* * * * *

"All is now better and clearer! God be praised! In a few hours this day
will be over;--I long vehemently for it!

"This evening we have a children's dance at our house. Emelie will be
here also. There is not a good understanding between us two. She is cold
to me, too witty, and too----, but I will do my best to be a good
hostess; and when the day is ended, I will sit and look at my beautiful
sleeping boy, and be happy in my children."

CHAPTER X.

THE END OF THE DAY.

Evening came, and with it lights and guests. A strong, self-sacrificing
amiability governed Elise's manner this evening. She was almost cordial
towards Emelie; cared for the comfort of every one, played the piano for
the children's dance, and appeared to exist only in order to serve
others. The beautiful Emelie, on the contrary, thought of herself; was
livelier and more brilliant than ever, and, as usual, assembled all the
gentlemen around her. The conversation was lively in this group; it
turned from politics to literature, and then dwelt awhile on
theatricals, in which Emelie, equally animated and sarcastic,
characterised the Scribe and Mellesville school as a dramatic
manufactory.

"For the rest," added she, "the stage acts very prudently and sensibly
in letting the curtain fall the moment the hero and heroine approach the
altar; novels do the same, and that, also, with good reason, otherwise
nobody would be able to read them."

"How so?" asked the Judge, with great earnestness.

"Because," answered Emelie, "the illusion of life is extinguished on the
other side of this golden moment, and reality steps forward then in all
its heaviness and nakedness. Look at a young couple in the glowing
morning of their union, how warm love is then; how it penetrates and
beautifies everything; how it glows and speaks in glance and word, and
agreeable action; how its glory changes the whole of life into poetry!
'Thou, thou!' is the one thought of the young people then. But o