nd rolled rapidly toward the road to Prague.
At Wittingau the Count's horses were to be exchanged for post-horses,
with which they would continue their journey.

When such excellent people have enlivened our houses by their presence,
have given us new impulses through their fresh spirits, and have made us
feel the blessings of dispensing hospitality, their departure leaves an
uncomfortable sense of vacancy and interruption, at least for the rest
of the day, and especially if we are left to ourselves. The latter case,
at least, was not true with our friends in the palace. Franziska's
parents and aunt soon followed the Mozarts. Franziska herself, the
Baron, and Max of course, remained. Eugenie, with whom we are especially
concerned, because she appreciated more deeply than the others the
priceless experience she had had--she, one would think, could not feel
in the least unhappy or troubled. Her pure happiness in the truly
beloved man to whom she was now formally betrothed would drown all other
considerations; rather, the most noble and lovely things which could
move her heart must be mingled with that other happiness. So would
it have been, perhaps, if she could have lived only in the present, or
in joyful retrospect. But she had been moved by anxiety while Frau
Mozart was telling her story, and the apprehension increased all the
while that Mozart was playing, in spite of the ineffable charm beneath
the mysterious horror of the music, and was brought to a climax by his
own story of his night work. She felt sure that this man's energy would
speedily and inevitably destroy him; that he could be but a fleeting
apparition in this world, which was unable to appreciate the profusion
of his gifts.

This thought, mingled with many others and with echoes of Don Juan, had
surged through her troubled brain the night before, and it was almost
daylight when she fell asleep. Now, the three women had seated
themselves in the garden with their work; the men bore them company, and
when the conversation, as was natural, turned upon Mozart, Eugenie did
not conceal her apprehensions. No one shared them in the least, although
the Baron understood her fully. She tried to rid herself of the feeling,
and her friends, particularly her uncle, brought to her mind the most
positive and cheering proofs that she was wrong. How gladly she heard
them! She was almost ready to believe that she had been foolishly
alarmed.

Some moments afterward, as she