ice, it was
plain the nature of his suit was one of heartfelt interest; while the
few words she spoke in answer, from their soft tones and foreign accent,
left me no doubt they came from La Mercia. I crept nearer the balcony,
and, concealed behind the balustrades, waited anxiously to catch a
glance at her as she passed. The light fell strongly from an open
window upon this part of the terrace; and I could perceive, as she came
forward, that, disengaging herself from the Count's arm, she assumed
a more gay and lively manner. She was now within a few feet of where I
stood eagerly waiting for the moment she would turn to enter the salon.
She curtsied deeply to some persons in the crowd; and ere I could
recover from the effect of the graceful and beautiful attitude she
assumed, she turned. Merciful Heaven! could it be true? I almost
screamed aloud, and, but for the hold I took of the balcony, should have
fallen. The picture was La Mercia: the same calm brow, the same melting
look, that beautiful outline of neck and throat, and, above all, that
lovely contour of head, to see which once was never to forget. She was
gone! the guests disappeared one by one from the terrace, the salon
became again crowded, and the windows were closed against the now
chilling night air; and yet so suddenly all seemed to happen, I could
scarcely believe but that still that lovely voice and beauteous form
were before me; and I could not help thinking, as I left the spot, that
to an excited brain and fevered imagination the likeness of the picture
to La Mercia must have been owing, as with slow steps I retraced my way
homeward.

The next morning early I left Dresden for the Augustine monastery at
Tetchen, and ardently commenced the intended altar-piece; but, fearing
lest the likeness to La Mercia might have been real, I did not copy from
the painting as I had resolved. For three months I laboured unceasingly;
and, whether from the perfect occupation of my time, or that the
peaceful and tranquil life of the holy men with whom I lived had its
influence, I know not, but my mind once more regained its calmness and
serenity, and I felt almost happy again.

In this frame of mind I was, when, one morning, one of the fathers,
entering my apartment, informed me that my old friend and patron, Count
Lowenstein, was about to be married. I started, and hurriedly asked to
whom, while the deep blush which suffused my cheek told too plainly the
interest I took in