Thus rebuffed, the Lieutenant was not encouraged to prolong his stay; and Milan was left, reassured, to bask in the smiles of the Princess and her lovely niece, and to pursue his wooing under the most favourable auspices.  This first visit was quickly followed by others; and before a week had passed the Prince had won the prize on which his heart was set, and with it a dower of five million roubles.  Now followed halcyon days for the young lovers—­long hours of sweet communion, of anticipation of the happy years that stretched in such a golden vista before them.  It was a love-idyll such as delighted the romantic heart of Paris; and congratulations and presents poured on the young couple; “the very beggars in the streets,” we are told, “blessing them as they drove by.”

“Happy is the wooing that is not long a-doing,” and Milan’s wooing was as brief as it was blissful.  He was all impatience to possess fully the prize he had won; preparations for the nuptials were hastened, but, before the crowning day dawned, once more the voice of warning spoke.

A few days before the wedding, as Milan was leaving the Murussi Palace, he was accosted by a woman, who craved permission to speak to him, a favour which was smilingly accorded.  “I know you,” said the woman, thus permitted to speak, “although you do not know me.  You are the Prince of Servia; I am a servant in the household of the Princess Murussi.  Your Highness, listen!  I love Natalie.  I have known and loved her since she was a child; and I beg of you not to marry her.  Such a union is doomed to unhappiness.  You love to rule, to command.  So does Natalie; and it is she who will be the ruler.  You are utterly unsuited for each other, and nothing but great unhappiness can possibly come from your union.”

To this warning Milan turned a smiling face and a deaf ear, as Natalie had done to the voice of the gipsy.  A fig for such gloomy prophecy!  They were ideally happy in the present, and the future should be equally bright, however ravens might croak.  Thus, one October day in 1875, Vienna held high holiday for the nuptials of the handsome Prince and his beautiful bride; and it was through avenues densely packed with cheering onlookers that Natalie made her triumphal progress to the altar, in her flower-garlanded dress of white satin, a tiara of diamonds flashing from the blackness of her hair, no brighter than the brilliance of her eyes, her face irradiated with happiness.

That no Royalty graced their wedding was a matter of no moment to Milan and Natalie, whose happiness was thus crowned; and when at the subsequent banquet Milan said, “I wish from my very heart that every one of my subjects, as well as everybody I know, could be always as happy as I am this moment,” none who heard him could doubt the sincerity of his words, or see any but a golden future for so ideal a union of hearts.