“Oh, Pipalee! how beautiful!” cried Nymphalin, as she stood enraptured by the wave, a star-beam shining on her, with her yellow hair “dancing its ringlets in the whistling wind.” “For the first time since our departure I do not miss the green fields of England.” “Hist!” said Pipalee, under her breath; “I hear fairy steps,--they must be the steps of strangers.” “Let us retreat into this thicket of weeds,” said Nymphalin, somewhat alarmed; “the good lord treasurer is already asleep there.” They whisked into what to them was a forest, for the reeds were two feet high, and there sure enough they found the lord treasurer stretched beneath a bulrush, with his pipe beside him, for since he had been in Germany he had taken to smoking; and indeed wild thyme, properly dried, makes very good tobacco for a fairy. They also found Nip and Trip sitting very close together, Nip playing with her hair, which was exceedingly beautiful. “What do you do here?” said Pipalee, shortly; for she was rather an old maid, and did not like fairies to be too close to each other. “Watching my lord’s slumber,” said Nip. “Pshaw!” said Pipalee. “Nay,” quoth Trip, blushing like a sea-shell; “there is no harm in _that_, I’m sure.” “Hush!” said the queen, peeping through the reeds. And now forth from the green bosom of the earth came a tiny train; slowly, two by two, hand in hand, they swept from a small aperture, shadowed with fragrant herbs, and formed themselves into a ring: then came other fairies, laden with dainties, and presently two beautiful white mushrooms sprang up, on which the viands were placed, and lo, there was a banquet! Oh, how merry they were! what gentle peals of laughter, loud as a virgin’s sigh! what jests! what songs! Happy race! if mortals could see you as often as I do, in the soft nights of summer, they would never be at a loss for entertainment. But as our English fairies looked on, they saw that these foreign elves were of a different race from themselves: they were taller and less handsome, their hair was darker, they wore mustaches, and had something of a fiercer air. Poor Nymphalin was a little frightened; but presently soft music was heard floating along, something like the sound we suddenly hear of a still night when a light breeze steals through rushes, or wakes a ripple in some shallow brook dancing over pebbles. And lo, from the aperture of the earth came forth a fay, superbly dressed, and of a noble presence. The queen started back, Pipalee rubbed her eyes, Trip looked over Pipalee’s shoulder, and Nip, pinching her arm, cried out amazed, “By the last new star, that is Prince von Fayzenheim!” Poor Nymphalin gazed again, and her little heart beat under her bee’s-wing bodice as if it would break. The prince had a melancholy air, and he sat apart from the banquet, gazing abstractedly on the Rhine. “Ah!” whispered Nymphalin to herself, “does he think of me?”