inful. I have been for a
long time wondering whether I should confess this as a sin, or keep
silence about such foolish nonsense. What is your opinion, father?"

Herr Mahok, in truth, did not know what to say. It was true that in
the Scripture some words were said about sinning with the eyes, but
photographs were not named. He answered, vaguely--

"Anything further, my daughter?"

"After I had for some time been silly over one of the portraits, I saw
in a dream the man it represented. He appeared to me as a beautiful
apparition, we walked together through fields and meadows,
arm-in-arm; a sort of heavenly halo surrounded us, flowers sprang up
under our feet. We were young, and we loved one another." The poor
lady wept bitterly as she related her dream, and she sobbed as she
said, "Is not this a sin, father?"

Herr Mahok had no hesitation in answering. He had found the name of
the sin--it was witchcraft; but the form the penance should take
puzzled him. The countess, however, helped him to a decision.

"Ah," she said, sadly, "I thought it was some demoniac possession; and
for these visions, sweet as they were, I must now do penance. Is it
not so, father? Will it satisfy for my fault if I burn in the fire the
portrait of the man who appeared to me in my dream, and fill the empty
space in my book with black crape?"

This remark explained the many frames filled with crape. The pastor
thought that the penance was well chosen. Nothing could be better than
a burnt-offering.

Theudelinde continued, "During these visions I lie in a profound
slumber. My soul is no longer on the earth; I am in the paradise of
lovers. No earthly feeling chains me here below; I am a clear spirit,
consequently no sound reaches me. I am as deaf to this world as if I
were already dead."

"Therefore the ghostly tumult never reached you last night; you were
wandering in your dream world."

"I confess it was so," whispered the countess, covering her face with
her hands.

"Now, here is a nice state of things!" thought the pastor. "The dead
ancestors play all manner of pranks in the family vault, while their
descendant projects herself out of her human body to make love in some
other region. They are, indeed, an extraordinary race. A poor man
daren't even think of such extravagances, and how can I, a poor
parish priest, deal with such queer goings-on? I only know how to
settle with the every-day penitent, who commits the usual sins."

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