"Well?" asked Count Starhemberg, opening the door and putting through his head.

"Pray come in," said Esterhazy, in a piteous tone.

"Ah, my niece has left! Well, I suppose that, as usual, she has conquered, and you release her?"

"Not at all," replied the unhappy mannikin; "I still beg for the honor of her hand. The empress has spoken, and I have only to obey."

CHAPTER LXXXI.

FRANZ ANTONY MESMER.

For some weeks great excitement had existed in Vienna. In all assemblies, coffee-houses, and restaurants, in the streets and on the public places, the topic of conversation had been the wonderful cures of the Suabian physician, Mesmer. These cures contravened all past experience, and set at naught all reason. Mesmer made no use of decoction or electuary--he prescribed neither baths nor cataplasms; he cured his patients by the power of his hand and the glance of his large, dark eye. He breathed upon their foreheads, and forthwith they saw visions of far-off lands; he passed the tips of his fingers over their faces, and pain and suffering vanished at his touch. No wonder that physicians denounced him as a charlatan, and apothecaries reviled him as an impostor.

No wonder that the populace, so prone to believe the marvellous, had faith in Mesmer, and reverenced him as a saint. Why should he not perform miracles with his hand, as did Moses with a rod, when he struck the rock? Why should not the power of his eye master disease, as once the glance of the Apostles gave speech to the dumb, and awakened life in the dead?

Mesmer, too, was an apostle--the apostle of a new faith. He bade suffering humanity turn to heaven for relief. "The reflection from the planets," said he, "and the rays of the sun, exercise over the human system a magnetic power. The great remedy for disease lies in this magnetic power, which resides in iron and steel, and which has its highest and most mysterious development in man."

The people believed, and sought his healing hand. He mastered their infirmities, and soothed their sufferings. But the more the world honored and trusted him, the more bitter grew the hatred of the faculty.

Each day brought him fresh blessings and fresh imprecations. The physicians, who, in Salzburg, had hurled Paracelsus from a rock, dared not attempt the life of Mesmer; but they persecuted him as an impostor, and proved, by learned and scientific deduction, that his system was a lying absurdity.

Those who affected strength of mind, and refused to believe any thing except that which could be demonstrated by process of reasoning, gave in their adherence to the indignant physicians. Those, on the contrary, who had faith in the mysteries of religion, were disciples of Mesmer; and they reverenced him as a prophet sent from heaven, to prove the supremacy of nature over knowledge.

Mesmer's fame had reached the court, and the empress herself became interested in his extraordinary achievements. In vain Van Swieten and Stork besought her to silence the audacious quack, who was ruining a great profession. She shook her head, and would have nothing to do with the feud.

"I shall wait and see," said she. "His system is harmless, and I shall not fetter him. One thing is certain. His manipulations will never poison anybody, as many a regular physician's prescription has done, and he shall not be molested. He has voluntarily sought an ordeal which will determine his position before the world. If he cures the blindness of my little protege, Therese, I shall give in my adherence with the rest; for he who restores the blind to sight, holds his skill from above."

This young girl was known to all Vienna. In her second year, after an attack of suppressed measles, she had become blind, and all attempts to restore her sight had proved unavailing. But if sight had been denied to her eyes, her soul was lit up by the inspiration of art. When Therese sat before the harpsichord and her dexterous fingers wandered over its keys--when, with undisturbed serenity, she executed the most difficult music that could be written for the instrument, no one who saw her beautiful eyes could have surmised their inutility. Her features were expressive, and those sightless eyes apemed at times to brighten with joy, or to grow dim with sorrow. Nevertheless, Therese von Paradies was wholly blind; her eyes were merely the portals of her soul--they sent forth light, but received none in return.

CHAPTER LXXXII.

THERESE VON PARADIES.

Therese von Paradies was in her room; her mother stood near, for, with the assistance of a maid, she had just completed her daughter's toilet.

Therese was elegantly dressed, and she seemed to enjoy her splendor although she was not permitted to see it.

"Say, mother," said she, as the last touch had been given to her dress, "of what material is my gown? It feels as soft as a young girl's cheek."

"It is satin, my child."

"Satin? And the color?"

"White."

"White!" repeated she, softly. "The color without color. How strange that must be! I shudder when I think that I shall see it before long."

"Why should you shudder?" said her mother, tenderly. "You should rejoice, dear child, that the world, with all its beauties, is about to become known to you."

"I do not know," replied Therese, thoughtfully. "I shall enter upon a new world which will astonish and perchance affright me by its strangeness. Now I know you all in my heart, but when I see you I shall no longer recognize you. Oh, mother, why do you wish me to be restored to sight? I am very happy as I am."

"Silly child, you will be still happier when you see. It is absurd for you to dread an event which will add a hundredfold to your enjoyment of life."'

"And why absurd, dear mother? Does not the heart of the bride, on her wedding-day, beat half in hope and half in fear? And is not her soul filled with sweet apprehension? I am a bride--the bride of light--and I await my lover to-day."

"Ah, who knows if light will come?" sighed the mother.

"It will come, mother," said Therese, confidently. "I felt it yesterday, when, for a moment, Mesmer removed the bandage from my eyes. It was for a second, but I SAW, and what I saw cut like a sharp sword athwart my eyes, and I fell, almost unconscious."

"That was a ray of light---the first glance of your bridegroom!" cried the mother, joyfully.

"Then I fear that I shall never be able to bear his presence," replied Therese, sadly. "But tell me, mother, am I dressed as becomes a bride?"

"Yes, Therese, you are beautifully dressed; for to-day we receive a throng of distinguished guests. The empress herself has sent one of her lords in waiting, to bear her the tidings of your restoration to sight.

The two great doctors, Van Swieten and Stork, will be here to see the marvel; and princes and princesses, lords and ladies, ministers and generals, will be around you."

"How is my hair dressed?"

"It is dressed as you like it, a la Matignon. Pepi has built a tower upon your head at least three quarters of an ell high, and above that is a blue rosette, with long ends."

"It is indeed very high," replied Therese, laughing, "for I cannot reach it with my hands. But I have another question to ask, dear mother.

Promise me that it shall be frankly answered."

"I promise."

"Well, then, tell me, is my appearance pleasing? Hitherto every one has been kind to me because of my misfortune; but when I stand upon equal footing with other women, do you think that I am pretty enough to give pleasure to my friends?"

"Yes, my dear, you are very handsome," said the mother, smiling lovingly at her child's simplicity. "Your figure is graceful, your face is oval, your features are regular, and your brow is high and thoughtful. When the light of day shall be reflected from your large, dark eyes, you will be a beautiful woman, my daughter."

"Thank you, dear mother, these are pleasant tidings," said Therese, kissing her.

"I must leave you, dearest," said her mother, softly disengaging herself from Therese's arms. "I have my own toilet to make, and some preparations for our guests. I will send the maid."

"No, dear mother, send no one. I need silence and solitude. I, too, have preparations to make for the heavenly guest that visits me to-day. I must strengthen my soul by prayer."

She accompanied her mother to the door, kissed her again, and returning, seated herself at the harpsichord. And now from its keys came forth sounds of mirth and melancholy, of love and complaint, of prayers and tear. At one time she intoned a hymn of joy; then came stealing over the air a melody that brought tears to the eyes of the musician; then it changed and swelled into a torrent of gushing harmony.

Suddenly she paused, a tremor ran through her frame, and a blush slowly mantled her cheek. Her hands fell, and her bosom heaved. As if drawn by some invisible power, she rose from her instrument and went toward the door. In the centre of the room she stopped and pressed her hands upon her heart.

"He comes," murmured she, with a smile of ecstasy, "he mounts the staircase, now he is in the corridor, his hand is upon the door."

Yes; the door opened so softly that the acutest ear could not have detected a sound. But Therese felt it, and she would have gone forward, but her feet were paralyzed, and she remained with outstretched arms.

With her heart she had seen him who now appeared upon the threshold. The person, whose coming had so agitated the young girl, was a man of scarcely forty years, of a lofty imposing carriage, and of prepossessing features. His large, blue eyes rested upon Therese with a glance of power, which thrilled through every fibre of her being. He held out his right arm toward her; then slowly lowering it, he pointed to the floor.

Therese followed its motion and sank on her knees. A triumphant smile beamed over Mesmer's face, and he raised his hand again. The girl arose, and as though she had seen him open his arms, she darted forward and laid her head upon his breast.

"Mesmer, my friend, my physician," whispered she, softly.