In this way, then, six years had slipped by, when Counsellor Bagger, or rather Fritz Bagger as we will call him, in remembrance of his examination-day, and his notes by the flying mail, was invited to a wedding-party on the shooting-ground.  The company was not very large,—­only thirty couples,—­but very elegant.  Bagger was a friend in the families of both bride and bridegroom, and consequently being well known to nearly all present he felt himself as among friends gathered by a mutual joy, and was more than usually animated.  A superb wine, which the bride’s father had himself brought, crowned their spirits with the last perfect wreath.  Although the toast to the bridal pair had been officially proposed, Bagger took occasion to offer his congratulations in a second encomium of love and matrimony; which gave a solid, prosaic man opportunity for the witty remark and hearty wish that so distinguished a practical office-holder as Counsellor Bagger would carry his fine theories upon matrimony into practice.  The toast was drunk with enthusiasm, and just at that moment a strong wind shook the windows, and burst open one of the doors, blowing so far into the hall as to cause the lights to flicker much.

Bagger became, through the influence of the wine, the company, and the sight of the happy bridal pair, six years younger.  His soul was carried away from criminal and police courts, and found itself on high, as in the attic chamber, with a vision of the small tinted clouds and the angel-heads.  The sudden gust of wind carried him quite back to the moment when he sent out his note as the Norwegian heroes their high-seat pillars:  the spirit of his twenty-fourth year came wholly over him, queerly mixed with the half-regretful reflection of the thirtieth year, with fun, inclination to talk and to breathe; and he exclaimed, as he rose to acknowledge the toast: 

“I am engaged.”

“Ay! ay!  Congratulate! congratulate!” sounded from all sides.

“This gust of wind, which nearly extinguished the lights, brought me a message from my betrothed!”

“What?” “What is it?” asked the company, their heads at that moment not in the least condition for guessing charades.

“Counsellor Bagger, have you, like the Doge of Venice, betrothed yourself to the sea or storm?” asked the bridegroom.

“Hear him, the fortunate! sitting upon the golden doorstep to the kingdom of love!  Let him surmise and guess all that concerns Cupid, for he has obtained the inspiration, the genial sympathy,” exclaimed Bagger.  “Yes,” he continued, “just like the Doge of Venice, but not as aristocratic!  From my attic chamber, where I sat on my examination-day, guided by Cupid, in a manner which it would take too long to narrate, I gave to the whirlwind a love-letter, and at any moment she can step forward with my letter, my promise, and demand me soul and body.”

“Who is it, then?” asked bridegroom and bride, with the most earnest interest.