intended who has just passed by.” Fleurange felt they were speaking of her, and she blushed with displeasure. Then she heard Wilhelm’s reply: “Would it might be so! She might, perhaps, yet save him from--” The rest escaped her as she was borne along by the throng. She did not see Wilhelm or his wife again, and for the present thought no more of this incident. The ceremony, the return, and the wedding dinner, all passed off with joyful simplicity. At the end of the repast, Clara took off her myrtle wreath, and divided it among her young companions, wishing that they too, in their turn, might find good husbands, and a happiness equal to her own. It was Hilda who was first honored in this distribution. This signified she would be married before the rest. She took the myrtle from her sister’s hand without any embarrassment, as if she were not ashamed to let others see she joyfully accepted the offering, and regarded it as more than a mere omen. After Hilda, came Fleurange, and then all the others down to little Frida, who had joined them with several other companions of her age. “In your turn, Gabrielle!” said Hilda, as Fleurange fastened the sprig of myrtle in her belt. “Your turn will soon come also to wear this crown.” Fleurange shook her head, and replied with a seriousness she herself could not have accounted for: “That day will never come for me--no, never!” “Why do you say so?” said Hilda, astonished. “I do not know.” And then she laughed. An hour after, she perceived the myrtle had fallen from her belt. She searched for it, having been charged by her cousin to wear it the remainder of the day, but she could not find it. At nightfall the newly married couple left the Old Mansion, escorted over the threshold and down the steps by all the family, who, with kind wishes and congratulations, there bade them adieu with more affection than sadness, for they were not to be widely separated, or for any great length of time. Clara’s father and mother accompanied her to her new home. It was a modest, pleasant house in one of the faubourgs of the city, which Julian, with loving interest, had been preparing more than a year for her who was now to take possession of it. Her parents took leave of her at the threshold. Madame Dornthal embraced her daughter, and, while clasping her in her arms, said: “Remember you are now beginning a new life. Continue to give us our share of your affection; but let nothing henceforth prevail over the love which is now your duty.” “I shall merit a severe penalty,” said Julian, “if this duty ever becomes a burden--if she ever regrets the day she joined her lot to mine.” The father and mother stood looking at them a moment as they paused at the entrance of the house. They observed the moved and respectful look of the bridegroom. They saw, too, the confiding glance of the bride amid her tears, and they left them without fear under the protection of God!