ative, sprightly
French lady whom we saw at an earlier period.

A letter from the Colonel to his wife, enclosing one from Moritz to
Angelica, dispelled the last remnant of anxiety. The enemy's capital
city was captured, and an armistice established.

Angelica was floating in a sea of blissfulness; and always it was the
Count who spoke of the brave deeds of Moritz, and of the happiness
which was opening its blossoms for the lovely future bride. After such
speeches he would take Angelica's hand, press it to his heart, and ask
if he were still as hateful to her as ever. With blushes and tears she
would assure him that she had never hated him, but that she had loved
Moritz too deeply and exclusively not to dread the idea of any other
suitor for her hand. And the Count would say, very solemnly and
seriously, "Look on me as your true, sincere, fatherly friend,
Angelica," breathing a gentle kiss upon her forehead, which she
suffered without ill-will; for it felt much like one of her father's
kisses, which he used to apply about the same place.

It was almost expected that the Colonel would very soon be home again,
when a letter from him arrived containing the terrible news that Moritz
had been set upon by some armed peasants, as he was passing with his
orderly through a village. Those peasants shot him down at the side of
the brave trooper, who managed to fight his way through; but the
peasants carried Moritz away. Thus the joy with which the house was
inspired was suddenly turned into the deepest and most inconsolable
sorrow.

The Colonel's household was all in busy movement from roof to ceiling.
Servants in gay liveries were hurrying to and fro; carriages filled
with guests were rattling into the courtyard, the Colonel in person
receiving them with his new order on his breast.

In her room upstairs sate Angelica in wedding-dress, beaming in the
full pride of her loveliness: her mother was with her.

"My dearest child," said the latter, "you have of your own free will
accepted Count S---- as your husband. Much as jour father desired this,
he has never at all insisted on it since poor Moritz's death; indeed,
it seems to me as though he had had much of the feeling which (I cannot
hide from you) I have had myself; it is utterly incomprehensible to me
how you can have forgotten poor Moritz so soon. However, the time has
come; you are giving your hand to the Count. Examine your own heart. It
is not yet too late. May the r