"Say nothing, even to Veronica; age is garrulous; I sincerely respect her, but I cannot acquit her of this peculiarity of her years; you have already made her so accustomed to your independent habits, you dear little piece of obstinacy, that she will not think it strange if you keep this letter from her as well as the others. It will be the last I shall write from here, for Prince Edward, who is to marry Ottilie as a proxy, arrived day before yesterday; the ceremony will be performed day after tomorrow, and then we shall set out at once. As the princess's health is somewhat delicate, and a journey by rail exhausts her more than to travel by ship, I shall bring her from B---- by water. We shall arrive on the 21st. Be sure to be at the harbor; the papers will give you all the particulars. Then, Cornelia, I will lay my weary head upon your breast, and rest peacefully after the thousand miserable anxieties of diplomacy and etiquette, which torture a poor ambassador extraordinary. Yes, you may be right when you say I was born for something higher than to be the servant of a prince. When I read such words, something stirs within me like an awakening power, which only needs the impulse to cast off its chains, to shake itself free by one mighty effort. Whether and from whence this will come to me, from without or from within, I know not; but this I do know, that only you can rouse the ideal powers which a misdirected life has lulled to sleep. "Farewell till we meet, my angel. "Your own _Heinrich_." It was late at night when _Heinrich_ finished this letter, and while he went calmly to rest and fell asleep with Cornelia's name upon his lips, the princess was wandering up and down her chamber like a restless ghost. The lamps were burning brightly in their ground-glass shades beside her bed, whose silken curtains waved slowly to and fro as Ottilie passed them.