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162 wounded, and whose hopes were destroyed? And such was the life to which Adalbert was about to leave her. It came at last. Mademoiselle Angeline’s engagement had now drawn to its close: the manager offered to have the stage paved with ducats, if she would but give him one night more—the tenth muse was inexorable; and the day she departed for Paris, Adalbert received his recall to Vienna. To say he felt no regret, would be doing him scant justice—to say he felt much, would be more than the truth. Once or twice he thought of taking Theresa with him; but from this step he shrank for many reasons, not the least of which was, that a lingering impulse of good forbade his transplanting the pure and beautiful flower to wither and die in the thick and blighting atmosphere of the city: besides, he should often be able to visit Aremberg. He told them of important business—of a speedy return—and said all that has been so often and so vainly said in the hour of parting. He threw his horse's bridle over his arm, and Theresa walked with him along the little forest path which led to the road. Adalbert was almost angry that she shewed none of the passionate despair, whose complaints he had nerved himself to meet: pale, silent, she clasped his hand a little more tenderly, she gazed on his face even more intently, than usual; and yet these tokens of sorrow she seemed trying to suppress. It never entered her imagination that