But though Utouch was a mocking spirit, Alfred could not complain that he had been untrue to his bargain. He had promised to bestow any thing he craved from his kingdom of the outward. He had asked for honour in the church, influence at the exchange, a rich handsome wife, and superb horses. He had them all. Whose fault was it, that he was continually looking round anxiously to observe whether _others_ had more of the goods he coveted? He had wished for a luxurious table, and it stood covered with the rarest dainties of the world. But with a constrained smile he said to his guests, “Is it not provoking to be surrounded with luxuries I cannot eat? That pie-crust would torment my sleep with a legion of nightmares. It is true, I do not crave it much; for I sit at a loaded table ‘half-famished for an appetite,’ as the witty Madame de Sevigné used to say. Again and again, he asked himself, why all the fruit that seemed so ripe and tempting on the outside was always dry and dusty within. And if he was puzzled to understand why he _seemed_ to have all things, and yet really _had_ nothing, still more was he puzzled to explain how Ernest _seemed_ to have so little, and yet in reality possessed _all_ things. One evening, at a concert, he happened to sit near Ernest and his wife, while they listened to the beautiful Symphony by Spohr, called the Consecration of the Tones. Delighted as children were they, when they began to hear the winds murmur through the music, the insects pipe, and one little bird after another chirp his notes of gladness. How expressively they looked at each other, during the tender lulling Cradle-Song! and how the expression of their faces brightened and softened, as the enchanting tones passed through the lively allegro of the Dance, into the exquisite melody of the Serenade! But when Cradle-Song, Dance, and Serenade all moved forward together in delightful harmony, a three-fold chord of lovely melodies, the transparent countenance of Ernest became luminous with his inward joy. It was evident that Touchu had again laid her thrilling wand upon his heart. “How the deuce does he contrive always to delight himself?” thought Alfred. “I wonder whether the music really _is_ any thing uncommon.”