Several weeks now quietly elapsed in a gentle alternation of joy and sorrow, until the image of the beloved dead receded into the background more and more, and love took exclusive possession of Cornelia's whole existence. At first she did not notice that the number of her acquaintances lessened; and when she at last became aware of it, _Henri's_ influence had already taught her to disregard it. She despised the pitiful souls which only judged from appearances, and clung to the few faithful friends that remained to her. But it was unavoidable that one or another of them should meet Ottmar during his frequent visits. It would not do,--people must not always find him with her; so, if he was present, other visitors were refused. When this happened too frequently, and Cornelia perceived that it must lead to misunderstandings with her best friends, she at last consented that Ottmar should spend the evening hours with her. Thus the meetings with others were prevented; but as his presence had been noticed, his absence was now the cause of comment. Had their interviews ceased, or been deferred until another hour? This must be ascertained. A few zealous friends watched her, and saw him come and go. They sorrowfully confided this incredible thing to each other under the seal of silence, warned her, half openly and half by hints, that her fair fame was endangered, and mourned for her as one dead. Yet she still stood erect and stainless, her girlish brow loftily upraised against the humiliations she endured, and pitied the world for being too corrupt to believe in the purity of anything; her last consolation was her good conscience. She trusted to herself and to her lover, and awaited the day which would solve the mystery before the eyes of men and restore her their lost esteem. This gave her strength to endure the "trial."