thing, one of these
days, for the poor old fellow had a hard time of it in this world. Old
Zenza had had the courage to come to the palace, but the little
pitchman would starve to death before he would do such a thing.

While Walpurga was speaking, the queen went to the cradle, and when the
prince saw her, he struggled, with hands and feet, as if trying to get
to her. She bent down and raised him up, and Walpurga exclaimed:

"Dear me! on the very day our countess returns, our prince sits up for
the first time. Yes, she can make everything go right."

The queen and Irma remained together in cheerful and unconstrained
conversation. In the evening, there were joyful greetings on the part
of those who had returned from the excursion to the Devil's Pulpit.
Irma now, for the first time, learned that her brother was not at
court. While at the baths, he had made the acquaintance of Baroness
Steigeneck and her daughter and was now visiting them.

The king's greeting of Irma was quite formal. Even Countess
Brinkenstein could have found nothing to object to in it; but how could
he well have done otherwise, when the queen said:

"I can't tell you how happy our dear countess's return has made me;
we've already spent several delightful hours together."

In the evening, there were fireworks which the king had ordered to be
prepared in honor of Irma's arrival. Far and near, the people were
looking at the lights and the gay-colored sheets of fire ascending
heavenward. At last, Countess Irma's name stood forth in letters of
fire, held aloft by mountaineers. The flame crackled, and, from behind
the shrubbery, there issued strains of music which were echoed back
from the distance. In the midst of all this noise and splendor, Irma
was ever asking herself: "How fares it now with your father?"

Count Eberhard, in his mountain castle, was sitting by the window and,
looking out into the starry night, said to himself: "Just as the stars
above are separate and distinct from each other, so is every human soul
solitary and alone. Each travels in its own orbit, its course
determined by the attraction and repulsion of the heavenly bodies that
environ it."

That night, Irma dreamt that a star descended from heaven and fell upon
her bosom. She tried to grasp it, but it eluded her and transformed
itself into a human figure which, with averted glance, exclaimed:
"Thou, too, art solitary."

BOOK III.