Since Marie gave her consent to the marriage, she had followed out their wishes without opposition. She wore a white satin dress, covered with gold lace, her arms, neck, and ears, adorned with diamonds. The coiffeur had powdered and arranged her hair, without her ever casting a glance into the Psyche-mirror which her betrothed had had the gallantry to send to her room. She let him arrange the costly bridal veil; but when he would place the crown of myrtle, she waved him back. “Your work is finished,” she said; “my mother will place that, I thank you.” As Trude entered, Marie was standing in the centre of the room, regarding it with sinister, angry looks. “There you are, Trude,” she said, “I am glad to see you a moment alone, for I have something to tell you. I have spoken with my future husband, demanding that you live with me as long as I live. Immediately after the ceremony you will go to my future home and remain there as house-keeper during my absence.” Sadly the old woman shook her head. “No, that is too important a place for me. I will not lead a lazy life, and play the fine woman. I was made to work with my hands.” “Do what you will in the house,” answered Marie. “Only promise me that you will not leave me, and when I return that I shall find you there. If you leave me, I will never come back. Promise me!” “Then I will promise you, my poor child,” sighed Trude. Marie laughed scornfully. “You call me poor--do you not see I am rich? I carry a fortune about my neck. Go, do not bewail me--I am rich!” “Marie, do not laugh so, it makes me feel badly,” whispered the old woman. “I came to tell you the bridegroom and the clergyman are there.” “The time has arrived for the marriage of the rich and happy bride. Go, Trude, beg my mother to come up and adorn me with the myrtle-wreath.” “Dear Marie, can I not do it?” asked Trude, with quivering voice. “No, not you; touch not the fatal wreath! You have no part in that! Call my mother--it is time!” Trude turned sadly toward the door, Marie glancing after her, and calling her back with gentle tone. “Trude, my dear, faithful mother, kiss me once more.” She threw her arms around Marie’s neck and imprinted a loving kiss upon her forehead, weeping. “Now go, Trude--we must not give way; you know me; you well understand my feelings, and see into my heart.” The old woman went out, drying her eyes. Marie uttered her last farewell. “With you the past goes forth, with you my youth and hope! When the door again opens, my future enters a strange, fearful life. Woe to those who have prepared it for me--woe to those who have so cruelly treated me! They will yet see what they have done. The good angel is extinct within me. Wicked demons will now assume their over me. I will have no pity--I will revenge myself; that I swear to Moritz!” Her mother rustled in, clothed in her splendid wedding-garments. “Did you send for me, dear Marie?” she whispered. “Yes, mother--I beg you to put on my myrtle-wreath.”