On one of those squares, in one of those shady thickets where he had so often sat with her and her sisters, he would now read her message.  With hasty step, with glowing cheeks fired by enthusiasm, with head aloft, he strode on, and now entered the woods near the path.  They were curtained by festoons of wild grapevine; no one could see how he now took out the little note which he had so long concealed in his hand, how he pressed it to his lips, to his eyes, how he then unfolded it, and again, before reading it, pressed the beloved characters to his lips.  The letter contained nothing but the words:  “The friends are ready and willing.  To-night about one o’clock in the Media Nocte.  From there flight.  A worthy asylum is waiting, and the priest stands before the altar to bless the couple.”

“To-night she will be mine—­to-night we shall be married!  To-night we shall make our escape!”

He could think of nothing but this.  His heart continually repeated it with loud jubilation, his lips murmured it softly in response, while, knowing nothing, seeing nothing of the outside world, he sped along through the alleys and over the squares of the garden.  He knew not whither he went, he had no aim; he only knew that to-night he was to be indissolubly united with his beloved—­that he would flee with her.  Once he must pause, for the loudly beating heart denied him breath, and once, in the blissful rapture of his soul, he must give a loud shout of joy, otherwise his breast would have burst.  A merry, musical laugh rang forth near to him, and as he turned to the side whence the sound had proceeded a lovely and pleasing picture met his astonished gaze.  In the midst of the grassplot near which he was stood a great white cow, one of those splendid creatures that are only seen on Dutch pastures.  A fine-looking maid, dressed in the national costume of the Dutch peasantry, with the gold-edged cap over the full, luxuriant hair that fell in long braids down her back, sat on a stool beside the cow, and was busied in milking.  In melodious, regular cadence the steaming milk flowed over her rosy hands down into the white porcelain bucket which she held between her knees.  At her side stood a little girl, in almost the identical costume, only that the wide plaited skirt was of black silk, the bodice of purple velvet trimmed with gold buttons and loops, and the white apron of finest linen edged with point lace.  Below the short silk skirt, trimmed with purple velvet, peeped forth blue silk stockings with red tops; shoes with high red heels, ornamented with gold buckles, covered the neat little feet.  It was altogether quite the costume of a Dutch peasant girl, only the cap was wanting on the head, and in its stead the hair, which fell in long fair ringlets over the child’s shoulders, was adorned by a thick wreath of the tendrils of the wild grape, into which, in front just over the brow, were woven two beautiful purple asters.  She had been busied, it appeared from the quantity of leaves and flowers she carried in her apron, in weaving wreaths, but now let the contents of her apron fall to the ground, and only kept the green wreath already finished, which hung upon her arm, while she sprang laughing over the grassplot.