at she will awake thoroughly before the marriage.
There is therefore, as you will perceive, no danger of anything
interfering with the auspicious event. My dear friend, let us
ring the church bells and sing a _Te Deum_; and the Chancellor
shall write a speech concerning the constant and peculiar favour
of God toward my family, and the polite piety with which we have
always requited His attentions. For just now all is well. She
sleeps.

"Your faithful friend,

"AUGUSTIN."

I had just finished this letter when Baptiste rushed in, exclaiming that
the Duchess had come, and that he could by no means prevent her entry.
The truth of what he said was evident; Cousin Elizabeth herself was hard
on his heels. She almost ran in, and made at me with wide-opened arms.
Her honest face beamed with delight as she folded me in an enthusiastic
embrace. Looking over her shoulder, I observed Baptiste standing in a
respectful attitude, but struggling with a smile.

"You can go, Baptiste," said I, and he withdrew, smiling still.

"My dearest Augustin," panted Cousin Elizabeth, "you have made us all
very, very happy. It has been the dream of my life."

I forget altogether what my answer was, but her words struck sharp and
clear on my mind. That phrase pursued me. It had been the dream of Max
von Sempach's life to be Ambassador. There had been a dream in his
wife's life. It was the dream of Coralie's life to be a great singer;
hence came the impresario with his large locket and the rest. And now,
quaintly enough, I was fulfilling somebody else's dream of life--Cousin
Elizabeth's! Perhaps I was fulfilling my own; but my dream of life was a
queer vision.

"So happy! So happy!" murmured Cousin Elizabeth, seeking for her
pocket-handkerchief. At the moment came another flurried entry of
Baptiste. He was followed by my mother. Cousin Elizabeth disengaged
herself from me. Princess Heinrich came to me with great dignity. I
kissed her hand; she kissed my forehead.

"Augustin," she said, "you have made us all very happy."

The same note was struck in my mother's stately acknowledgment and in
Cousin Elizabeth's gushing joy. I chimed in, declaring that the
happiness I gave was as nothing to what I received. My mother appeared
to consider this speech proper and adequate, Cousin Elizabeth was
almost overcome by it. The letter which lay on the table, addressed to
Varvilliers, was fortunately not endowed