ently, "but I assure you that she has begun to develop."
"There's no hurry, is there?"
"No. You know, I think you're too old for your age, Augustin. I suppose it was inevitable."
I felt much younger in many ways than I had at fifteen; the gates of the world were opening, and showing me prospects unknown to the lonely boy at Artenberg.
"And she has the sweetest disposition. So loving!" said Cousin Elizabeth.
I did not find anything appropriate to answer. The next day found me fully, although delicately, apprised of the situation. It seemed to me a strange one. The Duke was guarded in his hints, and profuse of declarations that it was too soon to think of anything. Good Cousin Elizabeth strove to conceal her eagerness and repress the haste born of it by similar but more clumsy speeches. I spoke openly on the subject to Vohrenlorf.
"Ah, well, even if it should be so, you have six years," he reminded me in good-natured consolation. "And she will grow up."
"She won't roll down hills always, of course," I answered rather peevishly.
In truth the thing would not assume an appearance of reality for me; it was too utterly opposed to the current of my thoughts and dreams. A boy of my age will readily contemplate marriage with a woman ten years his senior; in regard to a child six years younger than himself the idea seems absurd. Yet I did not put it from me; I had been well tutored in the strength of family arrangements, and the force of destiny had been brought home to me on several occasions. I had no doubt at all that my visit to
