the rising sun. Only this minute was the earth created and
stripped of those white films that are now floating off into
space. There lies the Garden of Eden in the rosy light of dawn,
and here is the first human couple--Do you know, I am so happy I
could cry at the thought that all mankind is not equally happy--Do
you hear that distant murmur as of ocean waves beating against a
rocky shore, as of winds sweeping through a forest? Do you know
what it is? It is Paris whispering my name. Do you see the columns
of smoke that rise skyward in thousands and tens of thousands?
They are the fires burning on my altars, and if that be not so,
then it must become so, for I will it. At this moment all the
telegraph instruments of Europe are clicking out my name. The
Oriental Express is carrying the newspapers to the Far East,
toward the rising sun; and the ocean steamers are carrying them to
the utmost West. The earth is mine, and for that reason it is
beautiful. Now I should like to have wings for us two, so that we
might rise from here and fly far, far away, before anybody can
soil my happiness, before envy has a chance to wake me out of my
dream--for it is probably a dream!

HENRIETTE. [Holding out her hand to him] Here you can feel that
you are not dreaming.

MAURICE. It is not a dream, but it has been one. As a poor young
man, you know, when I was walking in the woods down there, and
looked up to this Pavilion, it looked to me like a fairy castle,
and always my thoughts carried me up to this room, with the
balcony outside and the heavy curtains, as to a place of supreme
bliss. To be sitting here in company with a beloved woman and see
the sun rise while the candles were still burning in the