Library of the Worlds Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, Volume 3 | Page 4

know it well, and once sailed over the lake with your father. Does he still live?"
"Alas! no: he was drowned, and the lake hasn't given up its dead."
"He was a fine-looking old man, and you are the very image of him."
"I am glad to find some one else here who knew my father. The court tailor--I mean the court doctor--knew him too. Yes, search the land through, you couldn't have found a better man than my father, and no one can help but admit it."
"Yes: I've often heard as much."
"May I ask your Ladyship's name?"
"Countess Wildenort."
"Wildenort? I've heard the name before. Yes, I remember my mother's mentioning it. Your father was known as a very kind and benevolent man. Has he been dead a long while?"
"No, he is still living."
"Is he here too?"
"No."
"And as what are you here, Countess?"
"As maid of honor."
"And what is that?"
"Being attached to the Queen's person; or what, in your part of the country, would be called a companion."
"Indeed! And is your father willing to let them use you that way?"
Irma, who was somewhat annoyed by her questions, said:--
"I wished to ask you something--Can you write?"
"I once could, but I've quite forgotten how."
"Then I've just hit it! that's the very reason for my coming here. Now, whenever you wish to write home, you can dictate your letter to me, and I will write whatever you tell me to."
"I could have done that too," suggested Mademoiselle Kramer, timidly; "and your Ladyship would not have needed to trouble yourself."
"No, the Countess will write for me. Shall it be now?"
"Certainly."
But Walpurga had to go to the child. While she was in the next room, Countess Irma and Mademoiselle Kramer engaged each other in conversation.
When Walpurga returned, she found Irma, pen in hand, and at once began to dictate.
Translation of S.A. Stern.
THE FIRST FALSE STEP
From 'On the Heights'
The ball was to be given in the palace and the adjoining winter garden. The intendant now informed Irma of his plan, and was delighted to find that she approved of it. At the end of the garden he intended to erect a large fountain, ornamented with antique groups. In the foreground he meant to have trees and shrubbery and various kinds of rocks, so that none could approach too closely; and the background was to be a Grecian landscape, painted in the grand style.
Irma promised to keep his secret. Suddenly she exclaimed, "We are all of us no better than lackeys and kitchen-maids. We are kept busy stewing, roasting, and cooking for weeks, in order to prepare a dish that may please their Majesties."
The intendant made no reply.
"Do you remember," continued Irma, "how, when we were at the lake, we spoke of the fact that man possessed the advantage of being able to change his dress, and thus to alter his appearance? While yet a child, masquerading was my greatest delight. The soul wings its flight in callow infancy. A bal costum�� is indeed one of the noblest fruits of culture. The love of coquetry which is innate with all of us displays itself there undisguised."
The intendant took his leave. While walking away, his mind was filled with his old thoughts about Irma.
"No," said he to himself, "such a woman would be a constant strain, and would require one to be brilliant and intellectual all day long. She would exhaust one," said he, almost aloud.
No one knew what character Irma intended to appear in, although many supposed that it would be as "Victory," since it was well known that she had stood for the model of the statue that surmounted the arsenal. They were busy conjecturing how she could assume that character without violating the social proprieties.
Irma spent much of her time in the atelier, and worked assiduously. She was unable to escape a feeling of unrest, far greater than that she had experienced years ago when looking forward to her first ball. She could not reconcile herself to the idea of preparing for the f��te so long beforehand, and would like to have had it take place in the very next hour, so that something else might be taken up at once. The long delay tried her patience. She almost envied those beings to whom the preparation for pleasure affords the greatest part of the enjoyment. Work alone calmed her unrest. She had something to do, and this prevented the thoughts of the festival from engaging her mind during the day. It was only in the evening that she would recompense herself for the day's work, by giving full swing to her fancy.
The statue of Victory was still in the atelier and was almost finished. High ladders were placed beside it. The artist was still chiseling at the figure, and would now and then hurry down to observe the general effect,