“Ah, I shall not live to be permitted openly to clasp thy son in my arms!  May it go well with thee, dearest child!  God guide all our weak expedients for the best.

“Thy faithful mother,

“ELEONORE”

Albano stood for a long time speechless.  Joy of life, new powers and plans, delight in the prospect of the throne, the images of new relations, and displeasure at the past, stormed through each other in his spirit.

He went out, and in the twilight stood upon the mountains, whence he could overlook, but with other eyes than once, the city which was to be the circus and theatre of his powers.  He belongs now to a German house, the people around him are his kinsmen; the prefiguring ideals, which he had once sketched to himself at the coronation of his brother, of the warm rays wherewith a prince as a constellation can enlighten and enrich lands, were now put into his hands for fulfilment.  His pious father, still blessed by the grandchildren of the country, pointed to him the pure sun-track of his princely duty:  only actions give life strength, only moderation gives it a charm.

He descended to Bluemenbuhl.  The funeral bell of the little church of Bluemenbuhl tolled for Luigi.  Albano joined his sister Julienne, and they betook themselves with Idoine and Rabette to the church.  At the bright altar was the venerable Spener; the long coffin of the brother stood before the altar between rows of lights.  Here, near such altar-lights, had once the oppressed Liana knelt while swearing the renunciation of her love.  The whole constellation of Albano’s shining past had gone down below the horizon, and only one bright star of all the group stood glimmering still above the earth—­Idoine.

After the solemn service, Idoine addressed herself to him oftener; her sweet voice was more tender, though more tremulous; her maidenly shyness of the resemblance to Liana seemed conquered or forgotten.  Her existence had decided itself within her, and on her virgin love, as on a spring soil by one warm evening rain, all buds had been opened into bloom.

“How many a time, Albano,” said Julienne, “hast thou here, in thy long-left youthful years, looked toward the mountains for thine own ones—­for thy hidden parents, and brothers and sisters—­for thou hadst always a good heart!”

Here Idoine unconsciously looked at him with inexpressible love, and his eyes met hers.

“Idoine,” said he, “I have that heart still; it is unhappy, but unstained.”

Then Idoine hid herself quickly and passionately in Julienne’s bosom, and said, scarcely audibly, “Julienne, if Albano rightly knows me, then be my sister!”

“I do know thee, holy being!” said Albano, and clasped his bride to his bosom.

“Look up at the fair heaven!” cried Julienne.  “The rainbow of eternal peace blooms there, and the tempests are over, and the world’s all so bright and green.  Wake up, my brother and sister!”