mpany, and of the
merriest,--splendid parties----"

"I did not mean that. I am thinking of serious things, of charitable
objects. Oh! we who are rich have so many obligations towards the
suffering, towards the community, towards humanity."

Poor woman! how she would have escaped from her own burning heart amidst
coldly sublime ideas!

"As you please. Seek your joy, then, in drying the eyes of the tearful.
Be happy in the blessings which Gratitude will shower upon your name."

"Then you promise me this?"

"I am happy in being able to do anything that pleases you."

"Nay, be not too indulgent. I warn you that will only make me more
exacting."

"Speak, speak! would that there were no end to your wishes! Believe me,
only then am I unhappy, when I see that nothing delights you, when you
are sorrowful, when there's nothing you feel a liking for--then, indeed,
I am very, very unhappy! Would you like to go to a watering-place this
summer? Where would you like to go? Command me, where would you feel
most happy?"

Fanny began reflecting. Whither away? Anywhere, if it only were far
enough! Away from the neighbourhood of the Szentirmays, and never come
back again!

"Mehadia, I think, would be the nicest place. That is far enough away
anyhow," thought she.

"I'll engage for you beforehand the best quarters procurable for the
coming summer: it really is a very pleasant place."

"And I have something else to ask."

Karpathy could scarce contain himself for joy.

"But it is a greater and more serious wish than all the rest."

"All the better. What is it?"

"I should like you to come with me everywhere, and to be with me always,
and never leave me."

Ah, this was more than a human heart could bear! The foolish old man
went down on his knees beside the bed of his wife, and covered her hands
with his tears and kisses.

"How have I deserved this happiness, this goodness from you!" he cried.

The lady smiled sadly, and for a long, long time she did not release her
husband's hand from her own. Karpathy spent half the day by her bedside
in gentle prattle, listening to the modest wishes of his dear sick
little wife, and happy beyond expression at being allowed to give her
her tonics from time to time.

A few days afterwards Fanny was able to leave her bed, and, leaning
against her husband's shoulder, walked up and down the room. Day by day
her health returned, and she grew more and more like her old self. And
then she