love. We became again free—you first, your poor mother at the same time leaving you in possession of your large fortune; I later, just at the time when you returned from abroad. So we met once more. We spoke of the past; we could enjoy and love the recollection of it; we might have been contented, in each other's society, to leave things as they were. You were urgent for our marriage. I at first hesitated. We were about the same age; but I, as a woman, had grown older than you as a man. At last I could not refuse you what you seemed to think the one thing you cared for. All the discomfort you had ever experienced, at court, in the army, or in travelling, you were to recover from at my side. You would settle down, and enjoy life, but only with me for your companion. I placed my daughter at a school where she could be more completely educated than would be possible in the retirement of the country; and I placed my niece Ottilie there with her as well, who, perhaps, would have grown up better at home with me, under my own care. This was done with your consent, merely that we might have our own lives to ourselves,—merely that we might enjoy undisturbed our so-long-wished-for, so-long-delayed, happiness. We came here, and settled ourselves. I undertook the domestic part of the menage; you, the out-of-doors, and the general control. My own principle has been to meet your wishes in everything, to live only for you. At least, let us give ourselves a fair trial how far in this way we can be enough for one another."
"Since the interdependence of things, as you call it, is your especial element," replied Edward, "one should either never listen to any of your trains of reasoning, or make up one's mind to allow you to be in the right; and, indeed, you have been in the right up to the present day. The foundation which we have hitherto been laying for ourselves is of the true, sound sort;
