Was that really Marie? Was this pale woman with the large lustrous eyes, with the hectic flush on her hollow cheeks--was this really that proud beauty who had laid aside rank and wealth with royal contempt--who with joyous courage had determined to create for herself a new life, and, after having avenged herself on her unworthy husband and her unnatural mother, had gone out into the world to earn a subsistence with the work of her hands? The figure of that woman had been tall and full--the figure of this woman was shrunken, and, in spite of the heavy woollen dress which she wore, it was evident that nothing of their former beauty and fulness remained to these shoulders, to these arms, and to this unnaturally slight figure. And yet, although this pale woman had retained so little of her former beauty, there was still an inexpressible, a touching charm in her appearance. Disease had laid waste her fair form, but disease had not been able to deprive these eyes of their lustre, nor these cheeks of their rosy hue. To be sure, the same lustrous eyes and flushed cheeks were the fatal evidences of that disease which gives those whom it destroys the appearance of improvement, and permits them to hope until the last moment. Her brow was clear and transparent, and a soft, tranquil smile rested oftener on her thin, delicate lips than formerly. True, her figure was thin and unattractive, but this attenuation gave to her appearance something spirituelle. When she glided lightly and noiselessly through the room, the thought would occur to you that she was not a woman of earth, but must really be one of those of whom we read in song and story--one who, for some fault committed in heaven, or in the realm of spirits, is compelled to descend to the earth to make atonement by learning to suffer and endure pain like mortals! She had been working flowers of every variety. Roses and lilies, violets and forget-me-nots, tulips and pinks, and whatever else the names of these lovely children of the spring and sun may be, lay on the table in the greatest confusion. They were in the varied stages of completion, some half finished, and others wanting only a leaf or the stem. Marie held a bunch of lilies in her delicate hand, and Trude sighed when she observed it. It seemed to her that her darling looked like the angel of death, standing on the brink of the grave, and waving her lilies in a greeting to the new life that was dawning for the dying mortal! "Trude, who was it I heard speaking in the other room, who spoke in such loud tones?" asked Marie, as she leaned back in the arm-chair, as if exhausted by her work.--"Why do you not answer? Why do you not tell me who was there? Good heavens!" she cried, suddenly, "it cannot have been--O Trude, for God's sake, tell me, who was it? And if it was he, Trude--if he has at last come, then--"