When Mittler was come to talk the matter over with Edward, he found him sitting by himself, with his head supported on his right hand, and his arm resting on the table.  He appeared in great suffering.

“Is your headache troubling you again?” asked Mittler.

“It is troubling me,” answered he; “and yet I cannot wish it were not so, for it reminds me of Ottilie.  She too, I say to myself, is also suffering in the same way at this same moment, and suffering more perhaps than I; and why cannot I bear it as well as she?  These pains are good for me.  I might almost say that they were welcome; for they serve to bring out before me with the greater vividness her patience and all her other graces.  It is only when we suffer ourselves, that we feel really the true nature of all the high qualities which are required to bear suffering.”

Mittler, finding his friend so far resigned, did not hesitate to communicate the message with which he had been sent.  He brought it out piecemeal, however; in order of time, as the idea had itself arisen between the ladies, and had gradually ripened into a purpose.  Edward scarcely made an objection.  From the little which he said, it appeared as if he was willing to leave everything to them; the pain which he was suffering at the moment making him indifferent to all besides.

Scarcely, however, was he again alone, than he got up, and walked rapidly up and down the room; he forgot his pain, his attention now turning to what was external to himself.  Mittler’s story had stirred the embers of his love, and awakened his imagination in all its vividness.  He saw Ottilie by herself, or as good as by herself, traveling on a road which was well known to him—­in a hotel with every room of which he was familiar.  He thought, he considered, or rather he neither thought nor considered; he only wished—­he only desired.  He would see her; he would speak to her.  Why, or for what good end that was to come of it, he did not care to ask himself; but he made up his mind at once.  He must do it.

He summoned his valet into his council, and through him he made himself acquainted with the day and hour when Ottilie was to set out.  The morning broke.  Without taking any person with him, Edward mounted his horse, and rode off to the place where she was to pass the night.  He was there too soon.  The hostess was overjoyed at the sight of him; she was under heavy obligations to him for a service which he had been able to do for her.  Her son had been in the army, where he had conducted himself with remarkable gallantry.  He had performed one particular action of which no one had been a witness but Edward; and the latter had spoken of it to the commander-in-chief in terms of such high praise that, notwithstanding the opposition of various ill-wishers, he had obtained a decoration for him.  The mother, therefore, could never do enough for Edward.  She got ready her best room for him, which indeed was her own wardrobe