ne to
the poor sick-souled girl, and, as far as people could understand, had
wound her way into her confidence through music. At last came her fatal
mistake; wishing to make a scene, and fancying that she had sufficiently
prepared her for it, one evening she suddenly introduced the beautiful
pale creature into the midst of the brilliant, glittering assembly; and
perhaps, even then, the attempt might not have so utterly failed, had
not the crowd themselves, between curiosity and apprehension, conducted
themselves so unwisely, first gathering about the invalid, and then
shrinking from her again; and with their whispers, and shaking their
heads together, confusing and agitating her. Her delicate sensibility
could not endure it. With a dreadful shriek, which expressed, as it
seemed, a horror at some monster that was rushing upon her, she fainted.
The crowd fell back in terror on every side, and Ottilie had been one of
those who had carried back the sufferer utterly insensible to her room.

Luciana meanwhile, just like herself, had been reading an angry lecture
to the rest of the party, without reflecting for a moment that she
herself was entirely to blame, and without letting herself be deterred
by this and other failures, from going on with her experimentalizing.

The state of the invalid herself had since that time become more and
more serious; indeed, the disorder had increased to such a degree that
the poor thing's parents were unable to keep her any longer at home, and
had been forced to confide her to the care of a public institution.
Nothing remained for Charlotte, except, by the delicacy of her own
attention to the family, in some degree to alleviate the pain which had
been occasioned by her daughter. On Ottilie, the thing made a deep
impression. She felt the more for the unhappy girl, as she was
convinced, she did not attempt to deny it to Charlotte, that by a
careful treatment the disorder might have been unquestionably removed.

So there came, too, as it often happens, that we dwell more on past
disagreeables than on past agreeables, a slight misunderstanding to be
spoken of, which had led Ottilie to a wrong judgment of the Architect,
when he did not choose to produce his collection that evening, although
she had so eagerly begged him to produce it. His practical refusal had
remained, ever since, hanging about her heart, she herself could not
tell why. Her feelings about the matter were undoubtedly just; what a