"It is not for long," said Gabriel, consolingly, in spite of his own sorrow. "Paste the bird on the cover of your trunk, and when you open it and take out a good dress, think of me."
"Always," cried Dorchen, weeping. "I do not need that."
"When I return, Dorchen, we will talk further of what is to become of us, and I hope all will go well. The handkerchief which has received your tears shall be a remembrance for me."
"Leave it to me," said Dorchen, sobbing. "I must tell you I have bought wool, and will embroider you a wallet. This you shall carry about you, and when I write, put my letters in it."
Gabriel looked happy, in spite of his sorrow; and the moon glanced jeeringly down on the kisses and vows which were exchanged.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SOVEREIGN.
The Hereditary Prince was walking with the Chamberlain in the gardens which surrounded the royal castle on three sides. He looked indifferently on the splendid coloring of the early flowers and the fresh green of the trees; to-day he was more silent than usual; whilst the birds piped to him from the branches, and the spring breeze wafted fragrance from the tops of the trees, he played with his eye-glass. "What bird is that singing?" he asked, at last, awakening from his apathy.
The Chamberlain replied, "It is a thrush."
The Prince examined the bird with his glasses, and then asked, carelessly, "What are those people ahead of us carrying?"