“Then allow me to prepare him for your presence.”

“And if he denies his sanction?”

“He will not do it.”

“He has sworn never to allow you to marry a Russian.”

“Oh, that was long ago,” said she, smiling, “when Russia was our enemy.  Now we are at peace.  The bloody streams of discord are dried up, and an angel of peace rules over all countries.  Even my father will feel his influence, and make peace with you and me.”

Feodor did not answer immediately.  He stood thoughtful and contemplative, weighing the necessary and unavoidable, and considering what he should do.  One thing only was clear.  Neither Elise nor Gotzkowsky must be allowed to suspect on what extraordinary mission his empress had sent him thither.  Only when Elise was irrevocably bound to him, when she was his without recall, when Gotzkowsky had given his consent to their union, then would he dare to disclose it to him.  It was necessary, above all, to postpone the negotiations about the Russian demands for a day, and therefore he only gave his agents his instructions, and imposed on them silence and inactivity for a day longer.  The principal thing, however, was to convince Elise and her father that their union should suffer no delay, because he was only allowed to remain a few hours.  He put his arm around Elise’s slender waist and pressed her to his heart.  “Listen to me, my beloved; my time has been but sparingly dealt out to me.  I have come on with courier horses, so as to allow me more leisure on my return with you.  But to-day we must leave, for the army is on the frontier, equipped and ready for war.  Only out of special favor did the empress allow me a short leave of absence, to fetch my wife.  In her clemency she has done what she was able to do, and I must now obey her orders to return speedily, if I do not wish to bring her anger down upon me.  That nothing might prevent or delay us, I have brought a chaplain of our Church with me, to bless our union.  You see, my beloved, that every thing is ready, and all that is wanting is the wreath of myrtle in your hair.”

“And the blessing of my father,” she replied solemnly.

Feeder’s brow darkened and an angry expression flashed across his countenance.  Elise did not perceive it, for, in her noble forgetfulness of self, she had leaned her head on his breast, and all doubt and distrust were alien to her free and confiding love.  The love of a woman is of divine nature; it forgives all, it suffers all; it is as strong in giving as in forgiving.  Every woman when she loves is an inspired poetess; the divine frenzy has seized her, and poetic utterances of ecstasy issue from her trembling lips.  This poor girl, too, had become inspired.  Confidingly happy, she reposed on the breast of the man whom she had never ceased to love, whom she had blest in the midst of her bitterest tears, whom she had prayed for, earnestly entreating God to have mercy on him.