He found Natalie in her room. She did not hear him coming, and thus did
not turn to receive him. She was sitting motionless at the window and
dejectedly looking out into the garden, her head supported by her hand.
The events of the previous evening had made a great change in her. She
now felt older, more experienced, more earnest. A dark shadow had passed
over her sun-bright happiness, a dark power had threateningly approached
her; the seriousness of life had been suddenly unfolded to her and
had brushed off the ether-dust of harmless and joyful peace from her
childish soul. The happy child had become a conscious maiden, and new
thoughts, new feelings had sprung up within her. The first tears of
sorrow had, with a mighty creative power, called all these slumbering
blossoms of her heart into existence and activity, and her unconscious
feelings had become conscious thoughts.
But what had not happened, what had she not experienced and felt since
last evening? First, had not a new happiness broken in upon her, had
she not now a name, was she not a princess? Then, had she not achieved a
triumph--a triumph in the presence of Corilla? But then, also, how many
_desillusions_ had she not experienced in a few hours? How had her heart
been cooled by the rich flow of words in Corilla's poesy! Her whole soul
had languished for the acquaintance of a poetess, and she had heard only
a rhymed work of art.
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