fervent embrace sealed the solemn oath. From that moment Mimili became in reality my bride.
At length the dreaded morning arrived. When I took leave of the father, “God be with you!” said he, pressing my hand with deep emotion, “and return at the appointed time as my son, unless meanwhile my girl change her mind; of which I should, of course, inform you. Let us hear from you frequently, and keep a pure heart in your bosom; for such alone is pleasing to the Almighty. May he conduct you safely to your own country, and bless you, and your king, and your nation, for ever and ever!”
Mimili accompanied me almost as far as Lauterbrunn. She had, during the last days, striven with all her might to appear calm and cheerful; but now her fortitude was at an end. I perceived at breakfast that her eyes were red with weeping; and when we were taking a parting glass, she turned pale. Before she could raise her glass to her lips, she was obliged to set it down again, and burst into tears. Now she hung in silence on my arm; the pearly drops glistened on her silken lashes, as she listened to the best consolations I had to offer. We sent forward the man who carried my things, with directions to wait for me at Lauterbrunn, and seated ourselves on a mossy mass of rock in the shade of a venerable beech. She promised to
