was her disappointment then, when, during her absence
in the preceding spring, the leaves of the precious tree began to turn
yellow and many branches died. The gardener gave it up for lost, since
he could find no particular cause for its fading, and did not succeed in
reviving it. But the Count, advised by a skilful friend, had it placed
in a room by itself and treated according to one of the strange and
mysterious prescriptions which exist among the country folk, and his
hope of surprising his beloved niece with her old friend in all its new
strength and fruitfulness was realized beyond expectation. Repressing
his impatience, and anxious, moreover, lest those oranges which had
ripened first should fall from the tree, he had postponed the surprise
for several weeks, until the day of the betrothal; and there is no need
of further excuse for the good man's emotion, when, at the last moment,
he found that a stranger had robbed him of his pleasure.

But the Lieutenant had long before dinner found opportunity to arrange
his poetical contribution to the festive presentation, and had altered
the close of his verses, which might otherwise have been almost too
serious. Now he rose and drew forth his manuscript, and, turning to
Eugenie, began to read.

The oft-sung tree of the Hesperides--so ran the story--sprang up, ages
ago, in the garden of Juno on a western island, as a wedding gift from
Mother Earth, and was watched over by three nymphs, gifted with song. A
shoot from this tree had often wished for a similar fate, for the custom
of bestowing one of his race on a royal bride had descended from gods to
mortals. After long and vain waiting, the maiden to whom he might turn
his fond glances seemed at last to be found. She was kind to him and
lingered by him often. But the proud laurel (devoted to the Muses), his
neighbor beside the spring, roused his jealousy by threatening to steal
from the talented beauty all thought of love for man. In vain the myrtle
comforted him and taught him patience by her own example; finally the
absence of his beloved increased his malady till it became well-nigh
fatal.

But summer brought back the absent one, and, happily, with a changed
heart. Town, palace, and garden received her with the greatest joy.
Roses and lilies, more radiant than ever, looked up with modest rapture;
shrubs and trees nodded greetings to her; but for one, the noblest, she
came alas! too late. His leaves were withered, and