us.  Jessie, who was at that time about twenty-two, bore little resemblance to her mother, and no doubt took after her father, of whom I heard most flattering accounts.  A large and varied collection of books loft by this man to his daughter showed his tastes, for besides carrying on his lucrative profession as a lawyer, he had devoted himself to the study of literature and science.  From him Jessie had also learned German as a child, and she spoke that language with great fluency.  She had been brought up on Grimm’s fairy-tales, and was, moreover, thoroughly acquainted with German poetry, as well as with that of England and France, and her knowledge of them was as thorough as the most advanced education could demand.  French literature did not appeal to her much.  Her quick powers of comprehension were astonishing.  Everything which I touched upon she immediately grasped and assimilated.  It was the same with music:  she read at sight with the greatest facility, and was an accomplished player.  During her stay in Dresden she had been told that I was still in search of the pianist who could play Beethoven’s great Sonata in B flat major, and she now astonished me by her finished rendering of this most difficult piece.  The emotion aroused in me by finding such an exceptionally developed talent suddenly changed to anxiety when I heard her sing.  Her sharp, shrill voice, in which there was strength but no real depth of feeling, so shocked me that I could not refrain from begging her to desist from singing in future.  With regard to the execution of the sonata, she listened eagerly to my instructions as to how it should be interpreted, though I could not feel that she would succeed in rendering it according to my ideas.  I read her my latest essays, and she seemed to understand even the most extraordinary descriptions perfectly.  My poem on Siegfried’s Tod moved her deeply, but she preferred my sketch of Wieland der Schmied.  She admitted afterwards that she would prefer to imagine herself filling the role of Wieland’s worthy bride than to find herself in the position and forced to endure the fate of Gutrune in Siegfried.  It followed inevitably that the presence of the other members of the family proved embarrassing when we wanted to talk over and discuss these various subjects.  If we felt somewhat troubled at having to confess to ourselves that Mrs. Taylor would certainly never be able to understand why I was being offered assistance, I was still more disconcerted at realising after a time the complete want of harmony between the young couple, particularly from an intellectual point of view.  The fact that Laussot had for some time been well aware of his wife’s dislike for him was plainly shown when he one day so far forgot himself as to complain loudly and bitterly that she would not even love a child of his if she had one, and that he therefore thought it fortunate that she was not a mother.  Astonished and saddened, I suddenly gazed into an abyss which was hidden here, as is often