It was Emily's birthday. Flowers, books, letters, and visiting cards came pouring in. The General's lady kissed her on the mouth, and the General kissed her on the forehead; they were affectionate parents, and they and Emily had to receive grand visitors, two of the Princes. They talked of balls and theatres, of diplomatic missions, of the government of empires and nations; and then they spoke of talent, native talent; and so the discourse turned upon the young architect.
"He is building up an immortality for himself," said one, "and he will certainly build his way into one of our first families".
"One of our first families!" repeated the General and afterwards the General's lady; "what is meant by one of our first families?"
"I know for whom it was intended," said the General's lady, "but I shall not say it. I don't think it. Heaven disposes, but I shall be astonished."
"I am astonished also!" said the General. "I haven't an idea in my head!" And he fell into a reverie, waiting for ideas.
There is a power, a nameless power, in the possession of favor from above, the favor of Providence, and this favor little George had.
But we are forgetting the birthday.
Emily's room was fragrant with flowers, sent by male and female friends; on the table lay beautiful presents for greeting and remembrance, but none could come from George- none could come from him; but it was not necessary, for the whole house was full of remembrances of him. Even out of the ash-bin the blossom of memory peeped forth, for Emily had sat whimpering there on the day when the window-curtain caught fire, and George arrived in the character of fire engine. A glance out of the window, and the acacia tree reminded of the days of childhood. Flowers and leaves had fallen, but there stood the tree covered with hoar frost, looking like a single huge branch of coral, and the moon shone clear and large among the twigs, unchanged in its changings, as it was when George divided his bread and butter with little Emily.
Out of a box the girl took the drawings of the Czar's palace and of her own castle- remembrances of George. The drawings were looked at, and many thoughts came. She remembered the day when, unobserved by her father and mother, she had gone down to the porter's wife who lay dying. Once again she seemed to sit beside her, holding the dying woman's hand in hers, hearing the dying woman's last words:
"Blessing George!" The mother was thinking of her son, and now Emily gave her own interpretation to those words. Yes, George was certainly with her on her birthday.
It happened that the next day was another birthday in that house, the General's birthday. He had been born the day after his daughter, but before her of course- many years before her. Many presents arrived, and among them came a saddle of exquisite workmanship, a comfortable and costly saddle- one of the Princes had just such another. Now, from whom might this saddle come? The
General was delighted. There was a little note with the saddle. Now if the words on the note had been "many thanks for yesterday's reception," we might easily have guessed from whom it came. But the words were "From somebody whom the General does not know."
"Whom in the world do I not know?" exclaimed the General. "I know everybody;" and his thoughts wandered all through society, for he knew everybody there. "That saddle comes from my wife!" he said at last. "She is teasing me- charming!"
But she was not teasing him; those times were past.
Again there was a feast, but it was not in the General's house, it was a fancy ball at the Prince's, and masks were allowed too.
The General went as Rubens, in a Spanish costume, with a little ruff round his neck, a sword by his side, and a stately manner. The
General's lady was Madame Rubens, in black velvet made high round the neck, exceedingly warm, and with a mill-stone round her neck in the shape of a great ruff- accurately dressed after a Dutch picture in the possession of the General, in which the hands were especially admired. They were just like the hands of the General's lady.
Emily was Psyche. In white crape and lace she was like a floating swan. She did not want wings at all. She only wore them as emblematic of Psyche.