was displayed on none,
and the prince could enter and convince himself that no one was within.
He had visited twenty-three of the huts without finding the object
of his search. "I will go to the last one," said the prince, gayly;
"perhaps the gods have led me astray only that I might find happiness at
the end of my path." He saw the last hut in the distance. It nestled in
the midst of low bushes, looking quiet and undisturbed, and on the
door hung the ivy wreath. The heart of the prince beat with joy, and he
murmured, "She is there--I have found her," as he hastened toward the
hut. "No," he said, "I dare not surprise her. I must consider the law
sacred which I made. The ivy wreath is before the door--no one dare
enter. But I will lie down before the door, and when she comes out she
roust cross my body or fall into my arms." The prince approached the hut
quietly, careful to avoid making any noise. When he had reached it, he
sank slowly upon the grass, and turned his eyes upon the door, which
concealed his beloved one from his view.

Deep silence reigned. This was a charming spot, just suited for a tender
rendezvous, and full of that sweet silence which speaks so eloquently to
a loving heart. In the distance could be heard the sound of the hunter's
horn, whilst the great trees rustled their leaves as though they wished
to mingle their notes in the universal anthem. The prince gavo himself
up for a long time to the sweet pleasures of this solitude, turning
his smiling glance first to the heavens where a few white clouds
were floating, and then again to earth, where some glittering insect
attracted his gaze.

But what was it which pierced through him with a deadly horror--which
made him become so pale, and turn his flashing eyes with an
indescribable expression of dread toward the hut? Why did he partially
arise from his reclining position as the hunter does, who sees the prey
approach that he wishes to destroy? What was it that made him press his
lips so tightly, one against the other, as if he would repress a cry of
agony, or an execration? And why does he listen now with bated breath,
his gaze fixed upon the hut, and both hands raised, as if to threaten
an approaching enemy? Suddenly he sprang up, and rushed trembling to the
door, and, while in the act of bursting it open, he fell back, pale
as death, as if his foot had trodden upon a poisonous serpent. Thus
retreating, with wildly staring eyes, with half-open lips, whi