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 ful to you till death. Be mine, Mimili; be my beloved wife!”

Mimili looked stedfastly at me, and laughed. “Surely you must have lost your wits, sir,” cried she. “What could you do with a silly girl from the Alps in your fine city? What would your generous maids and matrons say, if you were to carry home one who has done nothing—nothing at all, for your king and country—one who is not acquainted with your ways and manners—one who knows nothing but her love to you. Here you like me because you see no others: but wait till you get home; when they come out to meet you with the ringing of bells and the merry dance, and the maidens bring you their thanks with tears in their eyes, myrtle garlands in their hands, and loving hearts in their bosoms, oh, then you will cease to think of me! Reserve yourself, sir, for those for whom your heart’s blood has flowed—for the daughters of your country; not for the shepherd-girl of foreign Switzerland. And then, do you suppose my father would let me go? Why, his heart would break if I were to cross the mountains, and not to come back again. Could I be easy in your crowded streets, when I knew that the old man was pining all alone at home? or could you part for ever from your illustrious king, whom you have sworn to serve, and your great nation, for whose welfare you have braved death, to dwell