For a time she brooded in silence over her grievance, but at length it was fanned into open rebellion by a breath of outside suspicion. Some of the people looked askance at the knight whose name no one knew. So Elsa openly reproached her husband with his secrecy, and begged that for the benefit of their sons he would reveal his name and station. Even the children of humble parents, the children of the peasants, of their own retainers, had a right to their father's name, and why not her sons also? Lohengrin paled at her foolish words, for to him they were the sign that he must leave his wife and family and betake himself once more to the temple of the Holy Grail. "Oh, Elsa," he said sorrowfully, "thou knowest not what thou hast done. Thy promise is broken, and to-day I must leave thee for ever." And with that he blew a blast on his silver horn. Elsa had already repented her rash words, and right earnestly she besought him to remain by her side. But, alas! her tears and pleadings were in vain, for, even as her entreaties were uttered, she heard the exquisite strains of music which had first heralded her lover's approach, while from the window of the castle she espied the swan-boat rapidly drawing toward the shore. With grave tenderness Lohengrin bade farewell to his wife and family, first, however, revealing to them his identity, and commending them to the care of some of his trusty followers. Tradition tells that Elsa did not long survive the loss of her beloved husband, but her sons became brave knights, well worthy of the proud name they bore. A Legend of Liege A legend of Liege! and is not Liege itself now almost legendary? Its venerable church, its world-famous library replete with the priceless treasures of the past, "with records stored of deeds long since forgot," where are they?--but crumbling clusters of ruins fired by the barbarian torch whose glow, we were told, was to enlighten an ignorant and uncultured Europe! But one gem remains: the wonderful Hotel de Ville, type of the Renaissance spirit in Flanders. Liege may be laid in ruins, but the memory of what it was can never die: Athens in death is nobler far Than breathing cities of the West; and the same may be said of those splendours in stone, those wonders of medieval architecture, even the blackened walls of which possess a dignity and beauty which will ever assist the imagination to re-create the picture of what has been.