"Who was she? Heinrich, a shadow has fallen upon your mood: who was it you mourn for as a departed spirit?" "A poor creature, whose suffering constantly pervades all my joys, whose misery always appears greater to me the more my own happiness increases, the more I learn to believe in the might of true feeling. Yes, yes, Cornelia, you are right; I may have virtues, but they principally exist in the fact that I can still regret the virtue I lack. Oh, if I could but cast aside my past with all its errors and reproaches, like the cocoon of a butterfly, and soar forth in freedom as a new, winged, purified creature!" "I will tell you the name of the unhappy woman about whom remorse is now torturing you," began Cornelia, after a pause of earnest thought,--"it is Princess Ottilie." _Heinrich_ started up. "Girl! How did such an idea enter your head?" Cornelia looked at him intently. "It is so." "Who told you?" "I thought of it myself. Ottilie imposed inviolable secrecy upon Röschen; what motive induced her to do so if she did not love you? What duty led Princess Ottilie to spare Herr von Ottmar except a tender obligation of the heart? All this, however, might be explained; but I was at the harbor when you arrived, I saw the princess turn pale, saw you approach anxiously and whisper a few words, perceived how, with a glance at you, she composed herself, how earnestly you watched her, and at last sprang to her assistance as if the whole responsibility of caring for her devolved upon you alone. I saw this lady was experiencing some great inward conflict; and your anxiety showed that you were aware of it. I felt there was some silent, mutual bond between you,--in what it exists I know not, but it does exist; and if I make it agree with what you have just said, then, _Heinrich_, I fear you have great cause for self-reproach." "You have watched me with the eyes of love, and formed a tolerably clear idea of the true state of affairs. It would be useless to deny your guess, you would still believe it. In such matters one can deceive the world, but not the instinct of a clever woman. What shall I say to you?--spare me further particulars concerning things which are not my secret. I will freely confess that, with the exception of yourself, she was my only friend,--that I owe her much and shall always pity her." "Poor lady!" said Cornelia, softly. "If she loves you, she is greatly to be pitied, for she can never forget you,--never be happy again!" "Does your own heart tell you that, Cornelia?" "Yes. Whoever has once felt the magic of your nature can never love another, and is bound to you for life; the whole world contains nothing nobler than yourself."