and greeted him pleasantly. "Christine and I are just going to have
breakfast," she said, in her jolly, hearty way. "Come in Mr. Müller, and
have a cup of coffee with us."

Nothing could have delighted Franz so much. Christine was pouring it out
as he entered the pretty breakfast parlor. How beautiful she looked in
her long loose morning dress! How, bewitching were its numerous bows of
pale ribbon! He had a sense of hunger immediately, and he knew that he
made an excellent breakfast; but of what he ate or what he drank he had
not the slightest conception.

A cup of coffee passing through Christine's, hands necessarily suffered
some wonderful change. It could not, and it did not, taste like
ordinary coffee. In the same mysterious way chicken, eggs and rolls
became sublimated. So they ate and laughed and chatted, and I am quite
sure that Milton never imagined a meal in Eden half so delightful as
that breakfast on the avenue.

When it was over, it came into Franz's heart to offer Christine a ride.
They were standing together among the flowers in the bay window, and the
trees outside were in their first tender green, and the spring skies and
the spring airs were full of happiness and hope. Christine was arranging
and watering her lilies and pansies, and somehow in helping her Franz's
hands and hers had lingered happily together. So now love gave to this
mortal an immortal's confidence. He never thought of sighing and fearing
and trembling. His soul had claimed Christine, and he firmly believed
that sooner or later she would hear and understand what he had to say to
her.

"Shall we ride?" he said, just touching her fingers, and looking at her