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.
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