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 thin as a spider's web, falls round her in froth-like waves, looking as if it would fade away at the softest touch. Yes, a dream-vision she is, and Marie, herself, thinks she is dreaming. She looks around her in smiling bewilderment, and says she cannot understand that she is really here, she has not the faintest idea how she got away from the ball and her suitor—she only knows that she had my letter, and could not stay.

But when the carriage has taken Marie away, I open the window and inhale the cold, rippling night-air. In the sky all the stars are lit up, and with royal arrogance I laugh up to the heavenly ball-room : 'Even if Marie were dancing there with the angels, I could force her to come to me with a word.'

GAIN I see the inquisitive moralists arriving with spectacles on nose and text-books in their pockets, and I hear them, after a serious consultation, give Marie an exceedingly bad character.

How could she treat that excellent manufacturer in such a wicked fashion; he, who had none but the best intentions? If she could not behave herself, it was at least her clear duty (see text-book VII., section B, paragraph 3) to break her engagement.

Poor logical moles, you should keep to your underground realm—there to your heart's content you can pass your votes of censure against the too vivid colouring of the flowers, against the too