gate, but not for a husband.
Such a man should either remain unmarried, or else take unto himself a
wife who founds soup-kitchens; not an Emilia, who is enough of a
coquette to know what becomes her."

Irma's cheeks glowed while she thus spoke. She felt as if riding o'er
forest and field on a wild courser. She had begun in bitterness and,
yielding to imagination, she went on boldly and fearlessly. She had
lost all fear and felt a conscious pride in her sway over life itself
and all that surrounded her.

The evening which had threatened dire storms had brought refreshing
breezes and a purified atmosphere.

The queen breathed freely once more, and felt happy in the midst of
this circle of good and gifted people.

Immediately after the play, Baum had hurried to Walpurga and told her:
"Oh, what a play we've had. I wonder they allow them to play anything
so free. There's a prince who's just about to marry a princess, and has
an old love who's still good-looking. He wants to get rid of her and,
in the mean while, tries to procure a new one who is very beautiful and
whose marriage is to take place that very day. He has a chamberlain who
is his friend, but whom he treats quite roughly if he doesn't bring him
what he wants on the instant. He treats him as an inferior and calls
him a fool one moment, and embraces him the next. So the chamberlain
manages to have the bridegroom shot dead and the bride carried away.
But, all at once, the old love comes and meets the father of Emilia
Galotti and sets him on, and the father stabs his daughter, and she
drops down dead."

"And what becomes of the prince and the chamberlain?" asked Walpurga.

"I don't know."

"Tell me once more," said Walpurga; "what was the bride's name?"

"There's the play-bill. It's all there."

Walpurga read the bill; the hand with which she held it trembled. There
were names which the king and Irma had mentioned that day, when she had
not understood a word of what they were saying.

"And so you've had that story performed. Oh you--The whole pack of you
are--I know--"

Mademoiselle Kramer's' advice stood her in good stead. Walpurga did not
venture to utter the thoughts that filled her mind.

On the following evening, there was a court concert. The large hall in
the main building was crowded with men wearing gay uniforms and crosses
of various orders, and richly dressed ladies. The select court circle
were in the hall, and the guests in the adjoining ap