of low-born people to feel themselves princes; mine it
is to share their natural feelings. "For a princess, her ancestry." Yes;
but for a princess who is no more than princess, her ancestors are a
bundle of faggots, and she, with her mind and heart tied fast to them,
is, at least a good half of her, dead wood. This is our opinion. May I
guess at your thoughts?'

'It's more than I could dare to do myself, princess.'

How different from the Ottilia I had known, or could have imagined! That
was one thought.

'Out of the number, then, this,' she resumed: 'you think that your
English young ladies have command over their tongues: is it not so?'

'There are prattlers among them.'

'Are they educated strictly?'

'I know little of them. They seem to me to be educated to conceal their
education.'

'They reject ideas?'

'It is uncertain whether they have had the offer.'

Ottilia smiled. 'Would it be a home in their midst?'

Something moved my soul to lift wings, but the passion sank.

'I questioned you of English ladies,' she resumed, 'because we read your
writings of us. Your kindness to us is that which passes from nurse to
infant; your criticism reminds one of paedagogue and urchin. You make
us sorry for our manners and habits, if they are so bad; but most of
all you are merry at our simplicity. Not only we say what we feel, we
display it. Now, I am so German, this offence is especially mine.'

I touched her horse's neck, and said, 'I have not seen it.'

'Yet you understand me. You know me well. How is that?'

The murmur of honest confession came from me: 'I have seen it!'

She laughed. 'I bring you to be German, you see. Could you forsake your
England?'

'Instantly, though not willingly.'

'Not regrettingly?'

'Cheerfully, if I had my work and my--my friend.'

'No; but well I know a man's field of labour is his country. You have
your ambition.'

'Yes, now I have.'

She struck a fir-branch with her riding-whip, scattering flakes on my
head. 'Would that extinguish it?'

'In the form of an avalanche perhaps it would.'

'Then you make your aims a part of your life?'

'I do.'

'Then you win! or it is written of you that you never knew failure! So
with me. I set my life upon my aim when I feel that the object is of
true worth. I win, or death hides from me my missing it.

This I look to; this obtains my Professor's nod, and the approval of my
conscience. Worthiness, however!--the mind must be traine