O father!  I loved her, and I, the experienced man of the world, allowed myself to be deceived by that young girl, who knew nothing of the world, and was yet such an accomplished hypocrite!  Think not that I was a mere idle coxcomb, arrogantly basing his expectations upon his wishes.  No, she deceived me, she disappointed me!  You should have seen her at that fete which you gave to the Electoral Prince.  How tenderly she leaned upon my arm, as we walked through the greenhouse, with what glowing cheeks, with what a blissful smile did she listen to my protestations of love, with what amiable bashfulness did she respond to them!  She even anticipated my boldest hopes and desires, and when I ventured to ask for a rendezvous, not only consented to it, but gave me a proof that she would have granted it without waiting for me to seek one.  There, in the greenhouse, she pressed a little note into my hand, which stated clearly and distinctly that she appointed ten o’clock of the following evening for a rendezvous with me at the castle.  And yet all was falsehood and deceit—­all only invented for the purpose of punishing the presumptuous fool who had dared to lift his eyes to the proud Princess!  Oh, how she laughed perhaps, and mocked me with her sister, mother, and brother, while I stood below before the locked door and waited, finally being obliged to slink away, burying my rage and despair in my heart!  I fancy her spying from a neighboring window, watching me, and enjoying my confusion as I stood there knocking at a bolted door, having at last to go off silent and bowed down.  It makes me furious to think of this, and yet continually the idea haunts me, leaving me no rest, until the remembrance of these two dreadful hours becomes absolute torture.  O father! why have you wrenched this secret from my heart?—­why have you persuaded me to tell you, what I have not even revealed to my father confessor?”

“I am glad, my son, that I have succeeded in opening this secret,” said the count quietly.  “I say opening, for like a festering sore it has rankled in your bosom, and believe me, Adolphus, since it has been opened, you will experience relief and your heart will heal.  It has befallen many another man to be caught in the snares of a coquette, and to have a few costly illusions dispelled.  But consider, my son, each illusion lost is an experience gained, and experience is cheaply bought with the dreams of the heart.  Experience, you know, brings knowledge of the world, and knowledge of the world forms the diplomatist and statesman.  You are already, my son, no despicable statesman, and you will some day play a great game, even though you are not the Electoral Princess’s husband.  For the rest I can give you one comforting assurance, and relieve your mind of an oppressive consciousness.  In order to do this I have allowed you to vent your rage, and listened with attentive ear to your passionate complaints.  My consolation is this:  you have never loved the