downcast eyes, tracing lines on the green-sward with her riding-whip, just as she had sat in the skiff when I was forced to sing her the song of the Lady fair.  Opposite her sat another young lady, with brown curls clustering on a plump white neck, which was turned toward me; she was singing to a guitar, while the swans glided in wide circles on the placid water.  All at once the Lady fair raised her eyes, and gave a scream on perceiving me.  The other lady turned round toward me so quickly that her brown curls fell over her eyes, and when she saw me she burst into a fit of immoderate laughter, sprang up from the bench, and clapped her hands thrice.  Whereupon a crowd of little girls in white short skirts with red and green sashes came running out from among the rose-bushes, so that I could not imagine where they had all been hiding.  They had long garlands of flowers in their hands, and quickly formed a circle around me, dancing and singing—­

  “With ribbons gay of violets blue
    The bridal wreath we bring thee;
  The merry dance we lead thee to,
    And wedding songs we sing thee. 
  Ribbons gay of violets blue,
    Bridal wreath we bring thee.”

It was from Der Freischuetz.  I recognized some of the little singers; they were girls from the village.  I pinched their cheeks, and tried to escape from the circle, but the roguish little things would not let me out.  I could not tell what to make of it all, and stood there perfectly dazed.

Suddenly a young man in hunting costume emerged from the shrubbery.  Hardly could I believe my eyes—­it was merry Herr Lionardo!  The little girls now opened the circle and stood as if spell-bound on one foot, with the other stretched out, holding the garlands of flowers high above their heads with both hands.  Herr Lionardo took the hand of the lovely Lady fair, who had risen, and had only now and then glanced at me, and, leading her up to me, said—­

“Love—­on this point philosophers are unanimous—­is one of the most courageous qualities of the human heart; it shatters with a glance of fire the barriers of rank and station, the world is too confined for it, eternity too brief.  It is, so to speak, a poet’s robe, in which every dreamer enwraps himself once in this cold world, for a journey to Arcadia.  And the farther two parted lovers wander from each other, the more beautiful and the richer are the folds of the robe, the more surprising and wonderful is its extent, as it sweeps behind them, so that one really cannot travel far without treading on a couple of such trains.  O beloved Herr Receiver, and bridegroom! although wrapped in this robe you reached the shores of the Tiber, the little hands of your present bride held you fast by the extreme end of the train, and, however you might fiddle and fume, you had to return within the magic influence of her beautiful eyes.  And since this is so, you two dear, foolish people, wrap yourselves both up in this blessed robe, forget all the rest of the world, love like turtle-doves, and be happy!”