keep out of his way. He has
sworn to publicly show his contempt for you, and therefore his friends
wish you to be apprised of it, and not encounter him in society."

"It is well, I thank you," said Marie, rising; "I will act accordingly.
Kiss me once more, my dear mother, and let me repose my weary head upon
your bosom. Ah, Trude, what a sorrow life is!"

"You will yet learn to love it again, Marie."

"If I thought that I could sink so low, I would kill myself this very
hour. I know myself better, and only for revenge do I live. Hush! say
nothing more. Look at me! I am cursed, and there in those gaudy rooms in
my purgatory; here is my paradise, and here the wicked demon may dare
to change into the sad, wretched wife, who mourns the happy days already
flown, and weeps the inconsolable future. Oft will I come here in the
night when those sleep who think me so proud and happy, and you alone
shall behold me as I am. Now I must back to purgatory.--Farewell!"

A half hour later a splendid carriage drove from the house of Herr
Ebenstreit von Leuthen. The people upon the street stood in wondering
admiration of the beautiful Arab horses with the costly silver-mounted
harness, and sought to catch a glimpse of the occupants of the carriage,
an insignificant, meagre, blond-haired man, who appeared like a servant
beside the lovely pale wife, though proud and indifferent, who kept her
eyes fixed steadily before her.

The chasseur, with his waving plumes, sat upon the box beside the
rich-liveried coachman.

As the married couple returned from their drive, having left their cards
at the most distinguished houses in Berlin, the baroness handed the list
of guests to be invited to the baron to examine. He glanced hastily over
it, assuring her that every thing should be directed as she desired,
deferring all to her superior knowledge. Suddenly he seemed confused,
even frightened. "What is the matter? What were you about to remark?"
asked Marie, indifferently.

"I was in error. I have, without doubt, read it wrong. I beg pardon for
a foolish blunder, but will you tell me this name?"

Marie bent forward to look at the paper which her husband handed her,
and, pointing with her finger, read "Professor Philip Moritz."

"Do you intend to invite him?" asked Ebenstreit, quite alarmed.

"Why should I not? He belongs to the circle of friends and
acquaintances, and it is natural that I should include him. Moreover,
there is not a little g