At other times I flattered myself with great expectations from the rapidly approaching visit of the gray man, and wept again when I had in vain tried to believe in it.  I had calculated the day on which I expected again to see the fearful one; for he had said in a year and a day; and I believed his word.

The parents, good honorable old people, who loved their only child extremely, were amazed at the connection, as it already stood, and they knew not what to do in it.  Earlier they could not have believed that Count Peter could think only of their child; but now he really loved her and was beloved again.  The mother was probably vain enough to believe in the probability of a union, and to seek for it; the sound masculine understanding of the father did not give way to such overstretched imaginations.  Both were persuaded of the purity of my love; they could do nothing more than pray for their child.

I have laid my hand on a letter from Mina of this date, which I still retain.  Yes, this is her own writing.  I transcribe it for thee: 

“I am a weak silly maiden, and cannot believe that my beloved, because I love him dearly, dearly, will make the poor girl unhappy.  Ah! thou art so kind, so inexpressibly kind, but do not misunderstand me.  Thou shalt sacrifice nothing for me, desire to sacrifice nothing for me.  Oh God!  I should hate myself if thou didst!  No—­thou hast made me immeasurably happy; hast taught me to love thee.  Away!  I know my own fate.  Count Peter belongs not to me, he belongs to the world.  I will be proud when I hear—­’that was he, and that was he again—­and that has he accomplished; there they have worshipped him, and there they have deified him!’ See, when I think of this, then am I angry with thee that with a simple child thou canst forget thy high destiny.  Away! or the thought will make me miserable!  I—­oh! who through thee am so happy, so blessed!  Have I not woven, too, an olive branch and a rosebud into thy life, as into the wreath which I was allowed to present to thee?  I have thee in my heart, my beloved; fear not to leave me.  I will die oh! so happy, so ineffably happy through thee!”

Thou canst imagine how the words must cut through my heart.  I explained to her that I was not what people believed me, that I was only a rich but infinitely miserable man.  That a curse rested on me, which must be the only secret between us, since I was not yet without hope that it should be solved.  That this was the poison of my days; that I might drag her down with me into the gulf—­she who was the sole light, the sole happiness, the sole heart of my life.  Then wept she again, because I was unhappy.  Ah, she was so loving, so kind!  To spare me but one tear, she, and with what transport, would have sacrificed herself without reserve!

She was, however, far from rightly comprehending my words; she conceived in me some prince on whom had fallen a heavy ban, some high and honored head, and her imagination amidst heroic pictures limned forth her lover gloriously.