_May 11._--Mamma looks at me so queerly sometimes. She does not want me to sit in my room alone so much instead of taking a share in her household cares. It is very sad to think that parents so often have little sympathy with the deepest emotions of their children’s hearts. _May 13._--All is over. My ideals are broken, my faith in humanity is gone for ever. Would I could die or enter a convent! I can write no more to-day--I have naught but tears and sighs to record. I only ate two apple-dumplings for dinner; they all noticed it. _May 14._--No one knows what I suffer. This terrible secret of my poisoned youth shall follow me to my grave. Lohengrin! How absurd the name sounds now, like a cruel irony of Fate. What would the girls at school say if they knew that Lohengrin, my interesting exiled Count, my Knight of the Swan--oh, horrors!--is nothing but a waiter? _May 16._--Did ever maiden’s heart suffer like mine? Ophelia or Margaret? Hamlet was at least a prince, and Faust had his college-degree, entitling him to social distinction. Ah, if he were but a shepherd or a hunter! There are such pretty poems about such with princesses and noble ladies--but a waiter? It is too horrible! It was on the 12th of May, the most tragic day of my life. Can I ever be happy again, can I ever forget it? Aunt Hedwig was visiting us, and in the evening papa and I went with her to the winter garden of the Victoria Hotel. Papa and auntie were talking together, and I sat quite still,--I have grown very quiet of late,--and as I was sipping my iced lemonade my thoughts hovered tenderly about my beloved. A mysterious power suddenly constrained me to look up. Near me, leaning against the trunk of a palm-tree, stood Lohengrin. How distinguished and elegant he looked! His dress-coat fitted him like a glove, the one softly-curled lock of hair falling over his brow gave him an air of classic grace. A heavy ring of gold gleamed on his slender hand. Thank God, it was no wedding ring! “Waiter!” called papa--I heard it as in a dream. His eyes grew larger and more lustrous, a beam of light seemed to flit across his countenance. My heart almost stood still. He approached our table. Does he not see papa and Aunt Hedwig? Does he not see all the people about us? He bows, he says: “Do you require anything, sir?” “A bottle of Médoc,” says papa. I hear his voice as if it came from a great distance. I felt as if something within me had snapped asunder at that moment. “What a nice-looking fellow!” remarked Aunt Hedwig. “A Pole,” said my father. “He looks like the veriest fashion plate. Dear me, little girl, how pale you are! The wine will do you good, and you must order your iron pills again to-morrow. Here waiter, the rest is for you!” Lohengrin, my Lohengrin, and twopence for his tip! Even now it is a mystery to me that I did not faint away.