Irma bowed her thanks, but a proud feeling of superiority filled her breast. "You have nothing to give me. It is I who am giving. It is I who am renouncing. He is mine. The priest gave him to you; nature has given him to me. You are a tender, delicate flower, but we are eagles, who soar into the clouds." She could hardly conceive how she could bear it all. Every drop of blood in her veins had turned to fire. The quadrille began. Irma felt the king's warm breath against her cheek. He pressed her hand, indulged in various pleasantries, and remarked that it was charming to be able to indulge one's fancy in conjuring up a fantastic world. Irma felt that both she and the king would have liked to speak of far different things, and that, indeed, silence was even more eloquent than speech; but they were obliged to talk, and of indifferent subjects at that. Whenever the king's hand touched hers, she felt as if she must suddenly fly aloft with him; and, whenever he removed it, as if she must sink. They came near throwing the whole quadrille into confusion. The queen left the ball at an early hour. The king accompanied her, but soon returned. Irma went about the room, but the gay scene seemed like a confused dream. At last she met her brother and his wife, who were richly attired, and greeted them with a pleasant smile. She was forever asking herself: "Do I still live? where am I? who am I?" She had descended through the air, and was floating in a strange world, in which there were only two human beings--he and she; the first, the only human pair. The gods have again descended upon earth, and his kiss is eternity. She sat with her brother and his wife, in a bower under a pine-tree. Presently, the king approached. In her heart, she rushed forth to embrace him, exclaiming: "Let us die together! Thou art mine and I am thine. We are alone in the world--" But all she did was to rise from her seat, and bow tremblingly. The king sat down beside her. As if this were the first time he had beheld her, he gazed with delight upon her beautifully shaped head, the curls playing about her throat and descending to her shoulders, and the dimpled neck. She seemed taller than usual. The delicate, oval face; the broad forehead richly arched as if with too great a wealth of thought; the finely curved eyebrows; the brown eyes with their limpid brilliancy, and the swelling lips; all were in beautiful and harmonious proportion. "You are beautiful, and I love you," whispered the king. "And you are beautiful and great, and my love for you is without limit," answered her heart, although her lips did not utter a sound. She closed her eyes and suffered his glance to rest upon her. "Irma!" said the king. "Irma," he repeated, with a choking voice. They sat there in silence for some time, and then, drawing a deep breath, the king said: