The Daughter of an Empress

"You weep not, my angel," whispered the count, while rushing forward

with restless haste.

"No, no, I neither weep nor tremble, for I am with you!" breathed a

sweet, childish voice.

"Cling closer to me, my sweet blossom, recline your head against my

breast. See, evening approaches!--Night will spread its protecting veil

over us, and God will be our conductor and safeguard! I shall save you,

my angel, my charming child!"

The steed continues his onward course.

The child smilingly reclines upon the bosom of the rider, over whom the

descending sun sheds its red parting beams.

Like a phantom flies he onward, like a phantom he disappears there on

the border of the forest. Was it only a delusive appearance, a fata

morgana of the desert?

No, again and again the evening breeze raises the mantle of the rider,

and the charming angelic brow is still seen resting upon the bosom of

the count.

No, it is no dream, it is truth and reality!

Like a storm-wind flies the count over hill and heath, and on his bosom

reposes Natalie, the daughter of the empress!