Arms and the Woman

When I whispered these words I expected a gentle pressure from

Gretchen's fingers, which rested lightly on my arm. But there was no

sign, and I grew troubled. The blue-green eyes sparkled, and the white

teeth shone between the red lips. Yet something was lacking.

"Let us go into the conservatory," she said. "It was merely a ruse of

mine. I want no supper. I have much to say to you."

Altogether, I had dreamed of a different reception. When I entered the

doorway, and she first saw me, it was Gretchen; but now it was

distinctly a Princess, a woman of the world, full of those devices

which humble and confuse us men.

Somehow we selected, by mutual accord, a seat among the roses. There

was a small fountain, and the waters sang in a murmurous music. It

seemed too early for words, so we drew our thoughts from the marble and

the water. As for me, I looked at, but did not see, the fountain. It

was another scene. There was a garden, in which the roses grew in

beautiful disorder. The sunbeams straggled through the chestnuts.

Near by a wide river moved slowly, and with a certain majesty. There

was a man and a woman in the garden. She was culling roses, while the

man looked on with admiring eyes.

"Yes," said the Princess, "all that was a pretty dream. Gretchen was a

fairy; and now she has gone from your life and mine--forever. My dear

friend, it is a prosaic age we live in. Sometimes we forget and dream;

but dreams are unreal. Perhaps a flash of it comes back in after days,

that is all; and we remember that it was a dream, and nothing more. It

is true that God designs us, but the world molds us and fate puts on

the finishing touches." She was smiling into my wonder-struck face.

"We all have duties to perform while passing. Some of us are born with

destinies mapped out by human hands; some of us are free to make life

what we will. I am of the first order, and you are of the second. It

is as impossible to join the one with the other as it is to make

diamonds out of charcoal and water. Between Gretchen and the Princess

Hildegarde of Hohenphalia there is as much difference as there is

between--what simile shall I use?--the possible and the impossible?"

"Gretchen--" I began.

"Gretchen?" The Princess laughed amusedly. "She is flown. I beg you

not to waste a thought on her memory."