"They would prepare you a brilliant triumph, you would retire from the stage richer by one beautiful recollection! Weigh it well!" "Is it your wish?" "Only if you wish it!" "No, no! I want no more laurel wreaths, and if I retire with a painful memory, my parting from the stage will be all the easier; I want nothing more in the world but your love. Buried be my past, oh, could I but bury it deeply!" "But not all!" said Blanden, "shall even the beautiful recollection of the magic lake be buried? Every day of happiness was a picture of future enchanting years. Do you remember the charming Indian poem, 'Calidas,' of which I told you? Oh, that Indian poetry is like the madhavya plant, which from its very root is full of flowers. I always think of that lovely Sacontala, and the marriage of Gandarvos, by which upon the flowery seat of the hermit's cave she united herself to the king. Then in the Indian legend ensues a time of long, dreary forgetfulness, but upon our life rests another curse. At last Sacontala saw her beloved one again; misunderstandings were cleared up, and the short enchanting meeting became a lasting alliance. Therefore will I, my lotus-flower, kiss the tears from your cheeks, as King Duschmanta kissed his regained beloved one." "Then, I will belong only and wholly to you," cried Giulia, amid kisses and embraces, "and even the fame which I conquered shall fade away like visions in the air." "I feel better every day," said Blanden, "I shall soon go to Kulmitten, and make all preparations for our marriage." Giulia, as usual, trembled when the eventful day was named. "If only Beate would return," said she to herself, "perhaps I should be calmer." Once more before setting out for his estate Blanden made a speech in the Citizen Assembly; he did not wish to break the thread which he had attached here, an active political life should be closely united to the domestic happiness he had ensured. Unfortunately, however, he must learn that his popularity in those circles had suffered seriously. Theatrical adventures and duels were something that the citizen mind could not deem compatible with a pioneer of political liberty. While they suddenly discovered a Don Quixote in him, he found himself at variance with the sentiments of the free citizens. Mutual estrangement ensued: his speech met with a lukewarm reception, the matadors of the assembly, the political doctor, the picturesque humourist, gave no token of approval, and therefore the crowd also remained silent. Not without a feeling of bitterness did Blanden leave the _Gemeinde-garten_; a slight veil was spread over his political dreams of the future; should he always remain bound to a life of vagrancy, never be able to raise himself to citizen-like activity, to statesman-like distinction? Spring was in the air, as he drove home with his foaming team, but an autumnal sensation at his heart he could not suppress. CHAPTER VIII.