Charlotte was delighted with the beautiful figures; but what had most effect on her was the child.  Her eyes filled with tears, and her imagination presented to her in the liveliest colors the hope that she might soon have such another darling creature on her own lap.

They had let down the curtain, partly to give the exhibitors some little rest, partly to make an alteration in the exhibition.  The artist had proposed to himself to transmute the first scene of night and lowliness into a picture of splendor and glory; and for this purpose had prepared a blaze of light to fall in from every side, which this interval was required to kindle.

Ottilie, in the semi-theatrical position in which she found herself, had hitherto felt perfectly at her ease, because, with the exception of Charlotte and a few members of the household, no one had witnessed this devout piece of artistic display.  She was, therefore, in some degree annoyed when in the interval she learnt that a stranger had come into the saloon, and had been warmly received by Charlotte.  Who it was no one was able to tell her.  She therefore made up her mind not to produce a disturbance, and to go on with her character.  Candles and lamps blazed out, and she was surrounded by splendor perfectly infinite.  The curtain rose.  It was a sight to startle the spectators.  The whole picture was one blaze of light; and instead of the full depth of shadow, there now were only the colors left remaining, which, from the skill with which they had been selected, produced a gentle softening of tone.  Looking out under her long eyelashes, Ottilie perceived the figure of a man sitting by Charlotte.  She did not recognize him; but the voice she fancied was that of the Assistant at the school.  A singular emotion came over her.  How many things had happened since she last heard the voice of him, her kind instructor.  Like a flash of forked lightning the stream of her joys and her sorrow rushed swiftly before her soul, and the question rose in her heart:  Dare you confess, dare you acknowledge it all to him?  If not, how little can you deserve to appear before him under this sainted form; and how strange must it not seem to him who has only known you as your natural self to see you now under this disguise?  In an instant, swift as thought, feeling and reflection began to clash and gain within her.  Her eyes filled with tears, while she forced herself to continue to appear as a motionless figure, and it was a relief, indeed, to her when the child began to stir—­and the artist saw himself compelled to give the sign that the curtain should fall again.

If the painful feeling of being unable to meet a valued friend had, during the last few moments, been distressing Ottilie in addition to her other emotions, she was now in still greater embarrassment.  Was she to present herself to him in this strange disguise? or had she better change her dress?  She did not hesitate—­she did the last; and in the interval she endeavored to collect and to compose herself; nor did she properly recover her self-possession until at last, in her ordinary costume, she had welcomed the new visitor.