"Well, if he has initiated you into the mystery of his art, Fräulein Elsa, oblige us with some of it now. There ought to be all sorts of fledgelings to take out of these nests, and we really would like to have a glimpse of our souls." "I asked Fräulein von Hartwich just now to let me examine her head, but she would not allow it." "But we are all ready for it," cried Moritz, bowing his head, as did several of the other gentlemen. "Pray don't," Angelika entreated her husband. "Dear Angelika," said Elsa, determined to be interesting to-day at all risks, "I am not at all afraid of the trial, for I am confident of success. But it must be seriously undertaken. The gentlemen must be disguised so that I cannot recognize them." "Yes, yes, that's right! It will be delightful!" cried the gentlemen, to whose gaiety the punch perhaps had lent some assistance. "Fräulein Elsa must leave the room while we disguise ourselves." "I will wait for a while in the garden, where it is far more charming to see the elves sipping the dew than you, gentlemen, drinking your punch. Call me when you are ready, and I will come, and, like a bee among the flower-cups, dip into your heads and find out whether they contain honey or gall." With this arch threat she was hurrying away, when Ernestine took her hand compassionately and whispered in her ear, "Do not do it, you will only be laughed at." Greatly offended, Elsa withdrew her hand. "By you, perhaps, but only by you. My friends here understand me and love me!" The tears rushed to her little eyes, and she hastened out, without hearing Herbert call after her, "You will disgrace yourself." She hurried down into the garden, to confide her griefs to the elves and fairies. She would endure smilingly, no one should know what she had dared to dream,--to hope. But could her faithful heart at once resign all hope? Patient waiting had before now been crowned with success. She went to the spot where Angelika had left the flowers that she had given her for Johannes. The glass was overturned, the water spilled and the flowers were scattered about withered. How sorry she was! It was a bad omen. She picked up her favourites and pressed them to her heart. "Thus will it perhaps be one day with me. I shall fade away," she thought, "forgotten and neglected like you, and the only proof of affection that can then be mine will be that some tender soul may lay upon my coffin a wreath of you, sweet flowers of the field!" She seated herself upon the grass and sung softly, while her tears dropped upon the flowers, "Ah, tears will not bring back your beauty like rain. Or love that is dead, to bloom over again." "Fräulein Elsa, are you weeping?" She started and sprang up, Möllner was approaching her across the lawn. "Oh, no, these are not tears, only the dews of evening," she lisped, drying her eyes.