"And lo! when now the angel attempts to lift his wings the little weight which Jesus Christ has laid on his breast draws him down to earth--for the weight is a human heart. Slowly, slowly he descends from the spheres until he lands on a green meadow. There he sinks into a deep, dreamless sleep, and when he awakes he has lost his wings, forgotten his heavenly origin, and has become a man--only with an intense longing in his soul for virtue and purity, which he is not himself aware is homesickness; holiness, happiness, heaven, and home being to him unconsciously one and the same thing. Yet but now howe'er much his yearning may hurry him upward again, his heart chains him fast to the earth and he cannot return to his radiant home until a great human grief has broken the heart which was laid on his breast. Then our Lord Jesus Christ glides downward to earth--takes the poor rebel in his arms and carries him back to Paradise." Gottfried paused. Blanche was silent a moment, then she sighed, "Your story is sad, almost as sad as if it were a true one!" To which Gottfried replied, "But it has a lovely ending!" The sad maiden, however, was perfectly silent, and looking into her melancholy eyes he discerned a doubt in them if even the joy of heaven could compensate for that which we suffer and are deprived of on earth. After a little while Blanche began, "Is the dear God then displeased if an angel looking down yearns for the earth?" "No," murmured Gottfried, "but he is sad, very sad!" X For two nights she had had no sleep; on the third she was exhausted and slept soundly, and dreamed a sweet--wonderfully sweet dream. It seemed to her that she met her beloved in the garden. A delicious perfume was wafted from the crown of the lindens, soft greenish shadows spread twilight over the earth, and all nature, as in measureless rapture, held its breath, no lightest touch of air stirred--she lay in his arms, love-enchanted and his lips closed her mouth. Thus she dreamed--when suddenly she sprang up as if one had struck her heart with an iron hammer. Was not that the sound of a horse's hoof which broke on the stillness of night? In her long white nightdress she flew to the window. She recognised him, notwithstanding the speed of his horse, and in spite of the curtain of darkness with which midnight sought to veil his figure. She bent far over the window-breasting and stretched out her arms; a frightful longing confused her senses, and she sang--poor child!--without knowing what the words meant: "Si tu veux m'apaiser Redonne--moi la vie Par l'esprit d'un baiser. "Heureux sera le jour Quand je mourrai d'amour!"