ing himself.

The great autumn maneuvers took place near the palace. There was much
talk of changes, and, among the soldiers, great enthusiasm thereat. The
queen and Irma, attired in the uniform of the queen's guards, appeared
on horseback. The queen looked like a patron saint, while Irma, with
her triumphant air, looked like a commander.

At the word of command, the huzzas of the soldiers filled the air, and
it seemed as if their joyous shouts would never end.

Colonel Bronnen was quite devoted in his attentions to Irma. It was
generally believed that he would, before long, sue for her hand. Some
even went so far as to assert that they were already secretly
betrothed, and that Irma's father, the old misanthrope, had refused his
consent, but that the beautiful countess would be of age within a
month. No regiment could have wished for a more beautiful colonel's
wife.

Irma's life seemed to glide on in ecstatic happiness. She did not even
know that the world had betrothed her. When she met the doctor, she
would say: "I think of visiting your dear family, every day, but there
is always something to prevent me; I'll surely come to-morrow or the
day after."

Weeks passed before she paid the visit, and when she did call, the
servant informed her that the family were not at home. Irma had
intended to call again, and finally concluded that they had treated her
rudely in neglecting to return her visit. She waited, and, at last,
dropped all intercourse with them. It is far better, she thought in
one's own sphere; aside from this, they were in mourning at the
doctor's, and Irma was not in the mood to seek sorrowful scenes. The
doctor himself even appeared ill at ease, for he had recently said to
her:

"Most persons, even those who are matured and self-conscious, exhaust
their joys, just as children do. Like them, they indulge their love of
pleasure without stint, and then follows the reaction, when joy is
followed by tears."

Irma avoided all further discussion with him.

Rainy days came, and no one could leave the house. Walpurga would go
about as if a prisoner, longing to be at the summer palace, although if
she had been there at that season of the year, she would have been
obliged to remain indoors. "Uncle was right," said she, jestingly, to
Mademoiselle Kramer. "At the christening, he said I was a cow, and now
I can fancy how a cow must feel, when it comes down from the mountain
meadows to its stall in the valley. G