Wilfrid was silent. When the two reached the courtyard they were conscious that they had neither the faculty nor the strength to enter the house. “What think you of her?” asked Wilfrid. “See that radiance!” cried Minna, going towards the window of the salon. “He is there! How beautiful! O my Seraphitus, take me!” The exclamation was uttered inwardly. She saw Seraphitus standing erect, lightly swathed in an opal-tinted mist that disappeared at a little distance from the body, which seemed almost phosphorescent. “How beautiful she is!” cried Wilfrid, mentally. Just then Monsieur Becker arrived, followed by David; he saw his daughter and guest standing before the window; going up to them, he looked into the salon and said quietly, “Well, my good David, she is only saying her prayers.” “Ah, but try to enter, Monsieur.” “Why disturb those who pray?” answered the pastor. At this instant the moon, rising above the Falberg, cast its rays upon the window. All three turned round, attracted by this natural effect which made them quiver; when they turned back to again look at Seraphita she had disappeared. “How strange!” exclaimed Wilfrid. “I hear delightful sounds,” said Minna. “Well,” said the pastor, “it is all plain enough; she is going to bed.” David had entered the house. The others took their way back in silence; none of them interpreted the vision in the same manner,--Monsieur Becker doubted, Minna adored, Wilfrid longed. Wilfrid was a man about thirty-six years of age. His figure, though broadly developed, was not wanting in symmetry. Like most men who distinguish themselves above their fellows, he was of medium height; his chest and shoulders were broad, and his neck short,--a characteristic of those whose hearts are near their heads; his hair was black, thick, and fine; his eyes, of a yellow brown, had, as it were, a solar brilliancy, which proclaimed with what avidity his nature aspired to Light. Though these strong and virile features were defective through the absence of an inward peace,--granted only to a life without storms or conflicts,--they plainly showed the inexhaustible resources of impetuous senses and the appetites of instinct; just as every motion revealed the perfection of the man’s physical apparatus, the flexibility of his senses, and their fidelity when brought into play. This man might contend with savages, and hear, as they do, the tread of enemies in distant forests; he could follow a scent in the air, a trail on the ground, or see on the horizon the signal of a friend. His sleep was light, like that of all creatures who will not allow themselves to be surprised. His body came quickly into harmony with the climate of any country where his tempestuous life conducted him. Art and science would have admired his organization in the light of a human model. Everything about him was symmetrical and well-balanced,--action and heart, intelligence and will. At first sight he might be classed among purely