When, looking back to that evening, I ask myself the question: Was that when we first made acquaintance? I answer, No. We did not need it; we greeted each other as friends of long standing; our first meeting was as a coming together after separation. Our conversation was interrupted by papa. He wanted to consult with the baron concerning some matters connected with his estate, and Bernhard had told him that he could not do better than put them into his hands. Both gentlemen engaged in earnest conversation; and at its close I saw them shake hands, and felt quite elated. So the fool of a Schwarzburg could talk sensibly for once--his advice could even be of use! The soirée was over. Most of the guests had left. Among the last to go were Dora and her people, and the count and his mother. The _comtesse douairière_, as my Duphot called her, was especially amiable to me on saying good-night. “You are so sweet, dear child, I quite admired you. How charming you were this evening toward that poor baron, the _attaché_ fellow! But do not forget that there may be a danger of your good nature being misunderstood. That class of person does not always know how to accept our notice, and is often made uncomfortable by our desire to make them feel _à leur aise_ in our society.” I hardly knew what to make of this comment; whether to take it as one of praise or blame. * * * * * I will not attempt to describe my simple love story at length. That my parents would consent to my marriage with Baron Schwarzburg, the “_attaché_ fellow,” I did not for a moment believe. The consciousness of my love for him and of its hopelessness revealed themselves simultaneously to me; and it would have been a grave wrong in me had I given myself up to the former. But I had not given myself up to it; it had taken hold of me before I was aware, and from the first moment I was as completely under its sway as I am to this day. It was the same with him. His affection for me came as suddenly as did my great love for him. It was only his perfect absence of vanity which for a long time made him think it impossible that he could inspire me with any warmer feelings than those of friendship. But even that seemed to make him supremely happy; and as for me--a new life had unfolded to me since he had taken me into his confidence, and since I had learned to know the workings of his noble, unselfish heart. He had met almost on every side with injustice, and yet he always held that Right must conquer. He had endured countless bitternesses, yet had come through them without one taint of bitterness. Truly with such a fund of love and strength in his own heart, how should he believe in anything but goodness?