Her mother slowly folded the letter, and laid it upon the table. “You know all now, Marie--that, as it becomes parents, we have disposed of your future and your hand. You will submit to their wishes without murmuring or opposition, as it becomes an obedient, well-brought-up daughter, and receive the husband we have chosen for you. He will come today to hear your consent, and you from this day forth are the betrothed of the future Herr von Werrig. Of course from this very hour you will cease the highly improper and ungenteel business which you have pursued. You must not make any more flowers, or give any more lessons. The time of such degradation and humiliation is past, and my daughter can no longer be a school-mistress. You have only to write the receipt to-day, and I will go with you to the treasury to get the money.” “I will not write the receipt,” said Marie, gently but firmly. Her mother, in the act of rising, sank back upon the divan; and the general, apparently quite occupied with his leg, stopped rubbing, and raised his red, bloated face to his daughter in astonishment. “Did I understand rightly your words, that you would not write the receipt?” “Yes, mother, I said so; I cannot and will not write it,” replied Marie, gently. “And why cannot you, and will you not write it?” said her mother, scornfully. “Because I have no right to the money, and cannot take it, mother, as I will never be the wife of the man you intend me to marry.” The general sprang with a savage curse from his arm-chair, and would have rushed to his daughter, but his wife pushed him back into his seat, and approached Marie, who rose, regarding her mother with a firm, sad expression. “Why can you not be the wife of the man we have chosen for you? Answer me, WHY you cannot?” “You know, mother,” she replied, and gradually her voice assumed a more decided tone, her cheeks reddened, and an inspired expression beamed from her eyes, and pervaded her whole being--“you know, mother, that I can never be the wife of Herr Ebenstreit, for I do not love him. I despise and abominate him, because he is a man without honor; he knows that I do not love him, and yet he insists upon marrying me. If it were not so, if I did not despise and abominate him, I would not receive his suit and marry him.” “Why not?” cried the general, shaking his fist at his daughter. “Why not?” cried the mother, with a cold, icy glance, void of pity or anger. Marie encountered these looks with beaming eyes. “Because I am betrothed to another,” and the words came like a cry of joy from her heart--“because I am engaged to my beloved Moritz!” “Shameless, obstinate creature, have we not forbidden it?” cried her father.