[Transcriber's Note:
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COLLECTION OF FOREIGN AUTHORS,

No. XII.

IN PARADISE.

VOL. II.

COLLECTION OF FOREIGN AUTHORS.

I. SAMUEL BROHL AND COMPANY. A Novel. From the French of Victor Cherbuliez. 1 vol., 16mo. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.

II. GERARD'S MARRIAGE. A Novel. From the French of André Theuriet. Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

III. SPIRITE. A Fantasy. From the French of Théophile Gautier. Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

IV. THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. From the French of George Sand. Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

V. META HOLDENIS. A Novel. From the French of Victor Cherbuliez. Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

VI. ROMANCES OF THE EAST. From the French of Comte de Gobineau. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.

VII. RENEE AND FRANZ (Le Bleuet). From the French of Gustave Haller. Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

VIII. MADAME GOSSELIN. From the French of Louis Ulbach. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.

IX. THE GODSON OF A MARQUIS. From the French of André Theuriet. Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

X. ARIADNE. From the French of Henry Greville. Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

XI. SAFAR-HADGI; or, Russ and Turcoman. From the French of Prince Lubomirski. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.

XII. IN PARADISE. From the German of Paul Heyse. 2 vols. Per vol., paper cover, 60 cents; doth, $1.00.

XIII. REMORSE. A Novel. From the French of Th. Bentzon. Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

XIV. JEAN TETEROL'S IDEA. A Novel. From the French of Victor Cherbuliez. Paper cover, 60 cents; doth, $1.00.

XV. TALES FROM THE GERMAN OF PAUL HEYSE. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.

XVI. THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. From the French of Octave Feuillet. Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

IN

PARADISE

A NOVEL

FROM THE GERMAN OF

PAUL HEYSE

VOL. II

NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

549 AND 551 BROADWAY
1878

COPYRIGHT BY

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1878.

IN PARADISE.

BOOK IV.

CHAPTER I.

A mile or two from Starnberg, on the shore of the beautiful lake, stands a plain country-house, whose chief ornament is a shady and rather wild little park of beeches and cedars. This stretches from the highway that connects Starnberg with the castle and fishermen's huts of Possenhofen, down to the lake--a narrow strip of woodland, separated only by picket fences from the neighboring gardens, so that a person wandering about in it is scarcely aware of its boundaries. The house itself is equally small and simple, and contains, besides one good-sized apartment, with several sleeping-rooms to the right and left, only a turret-room in the upper story, whose great north window shows at the first glance that it is a studio. From it can be seen, over the tops of the cedars, a bit of the lake, and beyond it the white houses and villas of Starnberg, at the foot of the height from whose summit the old ducal castle--now converted into a provincial court-house--rises like a clumsy, blunt-cornered box.

Some years before, a landscape painter had built this modest summer nest, and had made his studies of cloud and atmosphere from this turret window. When he died, childless, his widow had made haste to offer the property to the one among her husband's acquaintances who passed for a Crœsus; thus it was that the villa came into the possession of Edward Rossel, to the great surprise and amusement of all his friends. For our Fat Rossel was known as an incorrigible and fanatical despiser of country life, who was never tired of ridiculing the passion of the Munichers for going into the mountains for refreshment in summer, and who preferred, even in the hottest weather, when none of his friends could hold out in the city any longer, to do without society altogether rather than to give up the comforts of his city home even for a few weeks.

He maintained that this sentimental staring at a mountain or woodland landscape, this going into ecstasies over a green meadow or a bleak snow-field, this adoration of the rosy tints of sunrise and sunset, and all the other species of modern nature-worship, were nothing more or less than a disguised form of commonplace, thoughtless indolence, and as such certainly not to be condemned, particularly by so zealous a defender of dolce far niente as himself. But they must not suppose that this particular form of idleness was the highest and worthiest of human conditions; at the best the benefit which the mind and soul derived from it was not greater than if one should look over a book of pictures, or listen for hours to dance-music. Let them drivel as much as they liked about the sublimity, beauty, and poetry of Nature, she is and remains merely the scenery, and the stage of this world first begins to repay the price of admission when human figures make their appearance upon it. He did not envy the simplicity of a man who would be willing to sit in the parquet all the evening, staring at the empty scene, studying the woodland or mountain decorations, and listening to the voice of the orchestra.

To this the enthusiastic admirers of Nature always responded: It was well known that his ill-will toward Nature arose from the fact that no provision had been made for a comfortable sofa and a French cook at all the beautiful spots. He never made the slightest attempt to defend himself against these hits, but, on the contrary, he maintained in all seriousness, and with much ingenuity, his argument that a thinking being could derive more enjoyment of Nature, and a deeper insight into the greatness and splendor of the creation, from a pâte de foie gras than from watching a sunrise on the Rigi, with sleepy eyes, empty stomach, and half-frozen limbs enveloped in a ridiculous blanket--a melancholy victim, like his neighbors, to Alpine insanity. Whereupon he would cite the ancient races who had never known such an exaggerated estimate of landscape Nature, and yet, for all that, had possessed the five senses in enviable purity and perfection, and had been very intellectual besides. It is true, they had not known the celebrated "Germanic sentiment;" but there was every probability that the decline of the arts dated from the uprisal and spread of this epidemic, for which reason it was particularly out of place for artists to favor this sort of Berghuberei (as the Munichers call the country fever), with the exception, of course, of those who get their living by it--the landscape, animal, and peasant painters--a degenerate race of whom Fat Rossel never spoke without drawing down the corners of his mouth.

But much as he liked to disparage German sentiment, he could not find it in his heart to refuse the widow of the landscape-painter when she offered him the house on the lake for a price that could hardly be called low. Without any further inspection of the place he concluded the bargain, and, without changing a muscle, quietly suffered the malicious laughter which burst upon him from all sides to die out. "To possess something," he said, calmly, "was not at all the same thing as to be possessed by something." For that reason he would not need to join in their raving, merely because he found himself among people who were crazy and enraptured. And, true to his theory, whenever he was at his villa he pursued his usual comfortable sybarite life, and maintained that Nature had very great charms if one only looked at it with one's back.

He had had the house, which was built in a rustic style, most comfortably fitted up, with a great variety of sofas, rugs, and easy-chairs, and always had this or that friend with him as a guest; so that even the studio above the tree-tops, in which he himself never set foot, was not altogether lost to its proper use. Heavenly repose, he used to say, would not be nearly as sublime if there were not mortals in the world to bestir themselves and cultivate the field of art with the sweat of their brows.

Now, this year he had taken his æsthetical opposite, good Philip Emanuel Kohle, out with him; had quartered him in the chamber to the left of the little dining-room--he himself occupying the one on the right--and it is almost unnecessary to add, had given him the exclusive use of the studio. For the rest, they only met at dinner and supper, since the morning slumbers of the host lasted too long for the industrious guest to wait breakfast for him. Moreover, they could never come together without getting into some discussion, which was always welcome to Rossel, and, as he asserted, highly favorable to his digestion at any time of the day except in the morning. The more he saw of him the more pleasure Rossel took in this singular, self-communing man, who, bloodless, insignificant-looking, and unsophisticated as he seemed, bore about with him a truly royal self-respect, and the consciousness of immeasurable joys and possessions, without for a moment demanding that any mortal being should acknowledge his inherent sovereign rights.

Then, too, though he was so unassuming and so thankful for proffered friendship, he conducted himself toward his host with perfect freedom, for he held the most sublime doctrines in regard to the earthly goods that were lacking in his own case, but were so richly at the disposal of his friend.

A little veranda, with a roof supported on wooden pillars and overgrown with wild grape-vines, had been built out into the lake. A table and a few garden-chairs stood upon it, and from it one could look far away over the beautiful, unruffled water and the distant mountains. At night it was delicious to lean over the balustrade and see the moon and stars dancing in the waves. The nights were still warm, and the scent of the roses was wafted over from the garden; on a day like this one could sit in the open air until midnight.

Fat Rossel had seated himself in an American rocking-chair, with his back toward the lake; a narghili stood by his side, and on the table, in a cooler, was a bottle of Rhine wine, from which he filled his own and his friend's glass from time to time. Kohle sat opposite him, his elbows resting on the table, his shabby black hat pulled down over his forehead, from beneath which his eyes gleamed fixedly and earnestly out of the shadow like those of some night-bird. They appeared to be magically attracted by the lines of silver that furrowed the lake, and it was only when he spoke that he slowly raised them to the level of his friend's high, white forehead, from which the fez was pushed back. Rossel wore his Persian dressing gown, and his silky black beard hung picturesquely down upon his breast. Even in the moonlight Kohle looked very shabby in comparison with him, like a dervish by the side of an emir. The truth was, Kohle had but one coat for all times of the day and year.

"You may say what you like, my dear friend," said Fat Rossel, concluding a rather long dispute about the difference in character between the North and South Germans--he himself was from Passau and Kohle from Erfurth--"there is one talent you people on the other side of the Main are lacking in; you can swim excellently, but you can't lie on your back and let yourself drift. Didn't I drag you put here to this tiresome summer retreat because your aspect had become positively unbearable to a flesh-painter, your skin having dried to a respectable parchment, and you standing in danger of composing yourself into an early grave? And now you don't do anything better out here; but consume one yard of paper after another, while the shadows in your face grow blacker from day to day. Why are you in such haste, my dear Kohle, to produce things for which no one in the world is waiting?"

Kohle's pale face never moved a muscle. He slowly drank a few drops of wine from his glass, and then said, calmly:

"Forbid the silkworm to spin!"

"You forget, my dear godfather, that the worm you cite as your model has at least the excuse that it spins silk. If you could get so far as to do that, the thing would have a practical purpose. But your spinning--"

"Now you are talking again against your better convictions," interrupted the other, coolly, "There are more than enough people nowadays who pursue their so-called art for a practical purpose. Just listen once when our colleagues talk about their 'interests.' One would imagine he was at the Bourse: for this picture, five thousand gulden; for that, ten thousand, or even twenty and twenty-five thousand; and that a certain artist has an annual income of so and so much, and owns several houses besides--these things make up the motive power of an incredible number of them. Their pictures have no longer a value, but merely a price. How to go to work and make an equal amount from the fabrication of painted canvas, that is the pivot on which all the labor of an artist's fancy turns, instead of steering straight for the thing itself, as it ought by rights to do. Well, I have nothing in common with this worm that nourishes itself by crawling about in the dust. But what does it matter to me whether I spin silk, or only a plain thread that delights me alone, and from which I can beat my wings and soar away into space?"

"You are a thousand times too good for this century of banks and bourses, my dear enthusiast!" cried Rossel, with a sigh of honest admiration. "But, even though you despise the golden fruit on the tree of life, still all sorts of other things flourish there, which even the best of men need not be ashamed to find beautiful and desireable: for instance, fame or love, upon which you also turn your back with sublime contempt. Your life is quite as earnest as your art, and yet you know what Schiller says. If you go on in this way a few years longer, your flame of life will have consumed all its wick; and the magic-lantern pictures which the light has thrown on the dark background of your existence will go down with you into eternal night."

"No!" cried the other, and his yellow face lit up with a red flush. "I do not feel this fear! Non omnis moriar! Something of me will be left behind; and though you may be right that no glory will come to me during my life, a soft shimmer of posthumous fame will warm my bones under the ground, of that I am certain. For better times are coming, or else may God take pity on this wretched world, and dash it to pieces before it becomes one vast dung-heap from which no living flower will spring. Many a day when I have begun to lose faith, amid the wretchedness of the present, I have repeated to myself those comforting verses of Hölderlin's about the future of mankind."

"Now don't bring in your Hölderlin as a bondsman for yourself," cried Rossel. "To be sure, he was just as unpractical and as little suited to the times as you; and, moreover, one of those erratic fellows who have strayed out of the grand Greek and heathen worlds, and lost themselves in our shallow present--an artist for art's sake, a dreamer and ghost-seer in broad daylight. But for all that, he knew very well what makes life worth living; and though he despised gold, and did not run after fame very eagerly, he took love so seriously that he even lost his reason over it. But you, my dear Philip Emanuel--"

"Are you so certain that I am not on the straight road to it?" Kohle interrupted, with a peculiar, half-shy, half-bashful smile. "It is true, neither this nor that particular beautiful woman has caused me to tremble for the little sense I possess. But the woman and the beauty which I, being what I am--"

He broke off, and turned round in his chair, so as to present only his profile to his friend.

"I don't understand you, godfather."

"The thing is simple enough, I have never found a beautiful woman who claimed so little of a suitor as to be willing to take up with my insignificant self; that is to say--for I despise alms--who could seriously be satisfied with this drab-tinted sketch of a human figure that bears my name. And as I am too ignorant of the art of making the best of it, and seeking out a sweetheart who shall be suited to me in all ways and shall bear the stamp of the same manufactory, I stand but a poor chance so far as love is concerned. You will laugh at me, Rossel, but, in solemn earnest, the Venus of Milo would not be beautiful enough for me."

A short pause ensued. Then Rossel said: "If I understand you rightly, I must confess that I don't understand you at all. Besides, your estimate of woman is quite wrong. What you want is a husband; some one who shall show you that she is lord and master, and not a mere puppet. Put aside both your humility and your arrogance, and pitch in whenever you stumble upon a cheerful life. However, do just as you see fit. Who knows but what some time the Venus of Milo herself will take pity on you for having passed over all lesser women-folk in order to wait for the goddess?"

"And what if she has already appeared to me, ay, has visited me day by day up there above the tree-tops?" said Kohle, with a mysterious smile.

He pointed with his hand toward the studio, whose window sparkled softly in the starlight.

Rossel stared at him in amazement.

"You fear I am on the point of breaking into a divine frenzy," laughed the little man. "But I haven't yet confounded dreams and reality. That I have seen her, and have learned from her all sorts of things that other mortals do not yet know, is certain. But I believe myself that I only dreamed all this. It was on my very first morning out here. The evening before I had been reading the Last Centaur. The birds woke me very early, and then I lay for a few hours with closed eyes, and the whole story passed before me in a continuous train."

"What story?"

"I am now at work sketching it, after my own fashion, against which you will protest again. There is a cyclus of six or eight pictures--shall I tell you the story just as I am building it up in outline? It ought properly to be told in verse, but I am no poet. Enough, the scene opens with a mountain-cliff somewhere or other, the Hoesselberg, let us say, or any other mythological fastness in which a goddess could have lived apart from the world for a few centuries. From out it steps our dear Venus of Milo in proper person, leading by the hand a half-grown boy, who is no less a person than the little Amor. They are both but scantily clad, and gaze around with wondering eyes upon a world that has greatly changed since last they saw it. A city lies before them, with battlements and towers of strange shape standing out against the sky. Horsemen and pedestrians are coming out of the gate, dressed in bright-colored garments of a peculiar cut, which were nowhere in fashion in the world when the old gods were worshiped. The sky is clouded over, and a drizzling rain is gently falling, which forces the lady and her little boy to seek another place of refuge, since they can no longer find their way back to their old retreat. Yet they lack the courage to enter the town, with its swarming mass of human beings. But in the mountain over across the valley stands a high stone building, from which a tower, with a beautiful chime of bells, seems to ring out over the land an invitation for all men to draw near. It is true, this cannot be expressed in the sketch, but then the cloister over on the hill must have something homelike about it, so that everybody will understand why the fugitives, standing below in the rain, under shelter of a laurel bush, are gazing up at it with longing eyes. And now, when the sun breaks forth again, they muster up their courage and knock at the cloister gate. The nuns rush out at the cry their sister gate-keeper utters when she sees this queenly woman, with the black-eyed child of the gods, standing on the threshold, both half naked, and with their blonde hair falling about their shoulders. Then, too, as is natural, the nun understands no Greek, which would have enabled her to interpret the stranger's request for hospitality; nor can the abbess herself make out anything more as to the strangers' origin and character. But of one thing she is certain--this is not a strolling beggar of the usual sort. Thus, in the third picture, we see Madame Venus sitting in the refectory seeking to still her hunger; but the food is too coarse for her, and she tastes nothing but the cloister wine. They offer her a coarse, woolen nun's-dress, which, however, she scorns to wear. The only other dress they have on hand is the thin gown belonging to a beggar who died in the cloister a short time before. This she consents to put on; and although, here and there, her beautiful white skin peeps through a tear in the old rags, she seems to think this better than to be confined in the black shroud of the sisters. Her little boy has also been provided with a shirt, and is now being passed around from hand to hand, and lap to lap; for each of the nuns is eager to caress him. While they are sitting thus, on the best of terms, the priest of the place comes to have a talk with the abbess. He suspects something wrong, and stands on the threshold, dumb with amazement, and devours this strange beggar-woman with his eyes. But the little rascal of a boy goes up to him, and succeeds in making his reverence fall over head and ears in love with the strange lady, and scatter his older sentiments for the abbess to the four winds. A fourth sheet shows him as he strolls up and down the little cloister garden with Madame Venus, passionately declaring his love. At the window stands the pious mother of the convent, torn with jealousy; and it requires little imagination to foresee that her ecclesiastical friend has hardly turned his back before this dangerous guest is, under one pretext or another, thrust rudely forth into the wide world again, with her little boy--who is tired, and would have liked to sleep instead of having to wander about in the stormy night. But a house or hut is nowhere to be found, while, on the other hand, suspicious-looking groups pass by them: gypsies, who cast covetous eyes at the beautiful child; and one of them--a wicked, toothless old hag--actually catches him by the skirts of his little gown. But, fortunately, he glides out of her hands like an eel, and flies into the thicket, and his mother after him: who is so lost in thought that she scarcely heeds the danger. 'Where can all the others have gone?' is the question over which she broods ceaselessly.

"I don't know yet, myself, whether I shall show any more of her adventures by the way. Every day something new occurs to me, with which I might illustrate, both humorously and seriously, how, homeless and an outcast, this beauty had to beg her way through this sober world of ours. But, whenever she appeared at the door of simple and natural beings, she needed to utter no word, and not even to stretch out her hand. She touched the hearts of all; and every one--though here and there with a secret shudder--gave her from his poverty as much as he could spare. Young people, upon whom she had bestowed but a single glance, left house, and home, and calling, and wandered after her--through populous regions as well as through the wilderness--until, in their dreamy blindness, they fell over steep precipices, or into raging torrents, or came to an untimely end in one way or another. But she herself, growing sadder and sadder, wandered along her way, and thought of the times when the mortals who beheld her grew blissful and happy and not wretched, and when they gave banquets in her honor, and laid the most beautiful gifts at her feet; then she was a goddess, with a train of followers whose numbers were incalculable.

"Brooding in this way, she comes one evening to a celebrated pilgrims' chapel, lying in a charming little valley, and shaded on all sides by evergreen trees; and it is so late that no one observes her as she enters into the empty sanctuary with her boy--who is weary, and whose feet are sore--still holding fast to the skirts of her beggar's gown.

"Only the eternal lamp is still burning before the altar, but the moon shines through the arched windows, and it is as bright as day within. The godlike woman sees a brown, wooden, life-sized figure seated on a high throne. Two glass eyes glare upon her, and on the head flames a golden crown; a mantle of red velvet falls about the angular shoulders, and on her knees lies a wax child in swaddling clothes. She approaches quite near, and touches the mantle, and plucks at the heavy folds; whereupon the clasp on the neck of the image becomes unfastened, and the lean, wooden body appears, looking ghastly enough. A shudder creeps over the beautiful woman as she sees this image before her in all its lean, worm-eaten ugliness. 'Ah!' she thinks to herself, 'this princess's mantle will become me better than it does that old piece of carving!' and begins to wrap herself in its heavy folds, which give forth an odor of incense; and then she sets the crown on her head, and asks her boy whether she pleases him. But he only blinks at her a little, for he is tired to death. Then she takes pity on the poor child, lifts the image from its gilded throne, and the wax infant rolls to the ground and is dashed to pieces. She does not heed this, however, but mounts the steps and seats herself in the chair under the canopy, and the little Amor nestles warm in her lap, and, half covered by the velvet mantle, falls asleep on her heavenly bosom. All around her it is still; no sound is heard but the whirr of the bats as they fly hither and thither under the high dome, not daring to light on the crown of the stranger as they were accustomed to do upon the wooden image, being frightened away by the brightness of her eyes; until at last the eyes close, and the mother and son sleep quietly on their throne above the altar.

"In the early morning, even before the pilgrims who are encamped all about the chapel have awakened, a young man comes along the road, and, thinking no evil, enters the open portal, through which the gray light of morning has just begun to steal. He has often seen the wonder-working image that was worshiped here, but has never found that it exerted any particular power upon himself. And now he merely goes in and kneels down in a corner to let his heart commune with its God. But as his eyes roam absently about the chapel they encounter the divine apparition on the altar, sending a shock full of bliss and longing, adoration and rapture, to the very depths of his heart. Just at this moment the divine woman opens her eyes, makes a movement--which also wakes the boy--and has to think a little before she can remember where she is and how she came there. Her look falls upon the youth, who stands there gazing up at her, looking so handsome and earnest, and as if he were turned into a statue. She smiles graciously upon him, and moves her hand in token of greeting. Then a holy dread overcomes him, so that he flies from the chapel, and it is only when he is alone in the solitary wood that he recalls what he has seen, and realizes what a miracle has been revealed to him. And immediately the yearning comes back to him. Like a drunken man he staggers back to the chapel, where he finds the pilgrims already at their first mass. But the marvelously beautiful lady with the boy has vanished; the wooden Madonna is again enthroned under the baldachuin, and even a wax child lies upon her lap, for the priests have supplied the place of the broken one by another. Everything is in its old place, only the crown sits a little aslant on the brown, wooden head, for the sacristan has not succeeded in repairing the mysterious destruction any better. But the youth turns his steps homeward, and bears about with him, through his whole life, the after-glow of this wonderful apparition; striving always to represent, to his fellowmen who had not beheld it with their own eyes, how she had looked upon him--at first earnestly and dreamily, and then with a winning smile--and how the boy, with his wondering gaze, had illuminated everything about him, as if with balls of fire. And in his efforts to do this--for he was an artist--he has attained to greater and greater power and influence over his fellow-men, and each time has succeeded better in catching the face; and that is the secret which can be found in no history of art--the reason why this young Raphael has become the greatest of all painters, and his picture of the Madonna surpasses all others in beauty and in power."

CHAPTER II.

"By all the good spirits, but you are a poet!" cried Rossel, and he sprang up with so unusual an alacrity that his red fez slipped off his head.

"A poet!" responded his modest friend, with a sad smile. "There, you see how low we have sunken nowadays. If it ever occurs to one of us to let any idea enter his head that goes beyond a whistling shoemaker's apprentice, or some celebrated historical event, or a bathing nymph, he must immediately hear himself scouted as a poet. Those old fellows like Dürer, Holbein, Mantegna, and the rest, were left unmolested to spin into fables whatever struck them as beautiful or odd. But, nowadays, the doctrine of the division of labor is the panacea for all things; and if a poor fool of a painter or draughtsman works out for himself anything which a poet could by any possibility put into verse, people immediately come running up with Lessing's 'Laokoön'--which, by the way, no one thinks of reading nowadays--and prove that in this case all bounds have been overstepped. If a poor devil of an artist has a fancy for poetry, why doesn't he go to work and illustrate? After all, it is a trade that supports its man, and one who follows it can be a thorough-going realist, and can easily guard himself against all danger of infection from poetry. But an arrogant wight of an idealist, whom the world refuses to keep warm, and who, therefore, must take care not to let the sacred fire go out on the hearth of his art--"

"You are getting warm without cause, my dear Kohle!" interposed the other. "Good heavens! it is indeed a breadless art, that of the poet, but a deadly sin it certainly is not; and I, for my part, could almost envy you for having such ideas as those you have just been telling me. I'll tell you what--finish your plans, and then we will both of us paint this beautiful story of Dame Venus inside there on the wall of our dining-room. The devil must be in it, if we don't succeed in producing something that will throw the Casa Bartoldi deep into the shade."

He knew when he said this what a great proposal he had let fall upon the listening soul of his friend.

Kohle, like all art apostles of his stamp, despised easel and oil painting, as it is usually practised. On the other hand, the great aim of his longing and ambition was to be able, just for once, to wield his fresco brush to his heart's content on a wall a hundred feet long; and his friends were fond of plaguing him about a wish that had once escaped him--"My life for a bare wall!" Heretofore no one had been willing to entrust him with a square yard of his house, or even of his garden, for this purpose. And now, suddenly, he had only to put forth his hand, and see his greatest desire for monumental art-creation fulfilled.

At first he could not believe in such overwhelming good-fortune. But when the look of glad surprise and trembling doubt which he cast upon his host encountered a perfectly serious face, he could no longer hold himself in his chair. He sprang to his feet, threw his shabby black hat high into the air, and, with outstretched arms and glowing face, prepared to throw himself upon his friend, who was slowly strolling back and forth. "Brother!" he cried, in a half-stifled voice, "this-- this--" But Rossel suddenly stood still and made a motion with his hand, which checked the enthusiast in the very height of his wild excitement.

The remembrance of a similar moment, when his heart had overflowed toward his friend, and he had been upon the verge of formally offering him "good-comradeship," came back to him with a rude shock. Then the word had not yet passed his lips, when Rossel, at the very same moment, though apparently without intention, had begun to speak of his aversion to the display of tenderness among men, and had frightened away this outburst of brotherly affection. And could it be that even now the ice was not to be broken between them, and that this fulfillment of the dearest wish of his life was nothing but the favor of a gracious patron, a whim on the part of the rich host toward the poor devil who sat at his hospitable table? His proud, sensitive soul was just on the point of revolting against this, when from afar off a sound struck upon his ear, which, as he instantly perceived, had been heard by Edward sooner than by him, and which had been the cause of his gesture of repulse. The soft notes of a flute came wafted to them over the lake, nearer and nearer to the spot on the bank where Rossel's villa stood.

"It is he!" said Rossel. "Even the peace of night is not so sacred as to guard defenseless beings from the attacks of this romantic amateur. Look here, Kohle, see how the boat is just floating out of the shadow into the silvery path of the moon--Rosebud stands erect in the centre, like Lohengrin; and that tall figure at the tiller is undoubtedly Elfinger's high-mightiness--they are making straight for our balcony--well, let the will of the gods be done!"

The notes of the flute died away in a melting trill, and immediately afterward Rosenbusch sprang ashore. "Salem aleikum!" he cried, waving his hat. "We make our attack from the side of the lake, obeying necessity and not our own desire, for a mouse-hole where two travelers might lay their heads for the night couldn't be had in Starnberg for all the gold of California. Saturday and this beautiful weather have lured half Munich out there. I immediately thought of you, old boy, and told Elfinger, who thought it would be presumptuous for us to force ourselves on you without a special invitation, that, in addition to all sorts of oriental qualities which are hateful to me, you also possessed three most estimable ones--namely, a number of superfluous divans, excellent coffee, and a spirit of hospitality worthy of a Bedouin. Consequently, that, unless your shady roof chanced to be sheltering a few odalisques who had already taken possession of all the couches, you would not turn us away from your threshold. At the worst, it won't be any great misfortune to two jolly juveniles like ourselves to pass a night, just for once, on the floor of a fishing-boat.

'Upon the laughing wave below,

The stars are mirrored bright;

The mighty heights that frown around

Drink in the mists of night,'"

he sang, to an air of his own composing, his eyes turned upon the mountains that lay hazy in the distance.

"You are welcome to my poor roof," responded Rossel, with gravity, cordially shaking hands with the actor, whom he greatly esteemed, and whose modesty caused him to hang back a little. "All the divans I possess stand at your service; and of blankets, too, there is no lack. I only hope, for your sake, that you have already satisfied the grosser wants of the body. Our daily supply of provisions is exhausted, and there is no attendant spirit at hand whom I could send to the neighbors in quest of aid. I have only old Katie out here, and she--"

"Does she still live, that venerable virgin with the silver locks, who thinks how she might have had children, and grandchildren, and shakes her head?" cried the battle-painter. "Come, Elfinger, it behooves us to go and offer our homage to the lady and mistress of the house."

"You will have to curb your impatience until morning, my dear Rosebud; the old woman has taken it into her head to relieve the loneliness of the long winter out here on the lake by making Enzian schnapps, and diligently devotes herself the whole summer long to the consumption of her own manufacture, so that she is good for nothing after eight o'clock. The most tender flute-serenade would not wake her from her deathlike Enzian sleep. Were it not that she is reasonably sober during the day, is a good cook, and is as faithful as an old dog, I would have sent her to the hospital long ago."

In the mean time, Rosenbusch had paid off and sent away the boatman, whom he never spoke of except as the "Fergen," and now rushed up the steps to the balcony, where, with a merry jodel he threw himself into a chair, and drank the health of the others from Kohle's half-filled glass.

"'Well for the rich and happy house,

That counts such gift but small!'"

he cried. "Long life to you, dear Westöstlicher. Truly, Rossel, there are moments when I acknowledge and honor the old proverb, 'Wisdom is good, especially with an inheritance.' If I could call a spot of earth like this mine, I myself would try to be as wise as you, and no longer assist at the decline of modern art. But no; after all, I couldn't stand doing nothing but feeding my white-mice and giving myself up to intellectual laziness. However, enough of this. Out here is truce and neutral territory, and I know what I owe to hospitality."

"Since you began it yourself," said Rossel, with a smile, "I have a single favor to ask of you. I have a number of song-birds in my garden, and I am afraid you will drive them from me if you give a loose rein to your baleful passion for music. They will acknowledge your superior genius, and shrink from competition. If you positively must play, row out upon the lake. There is a southwest wind which will waft the strains across to the castle over opposite, where they will do no harm."

"So be it," responded the battle-painter, with great seriousness; "though, in any case, we shan't burden you with our presence very long. For, to-morrow--" He broke off, for Elfinger gave him a warning look. In the meanwhile, Kohle had hastened down into the cellar, and now returned with a few slim bottles and the wine-cooler, which he had filled afresh with ice.

He had not yet spoken a word; but his whole face beamed with an inner content such as he seldom exhibited. The thought of the bare walls inspired him as the happiness of a secret love does others. Meantime, Elfinger had descended again to the bank, from which a little path led to a bathing-house. Soon his friends who had remained behind saw him swim out into the lake, his black, curly bead rising out of the silver path of the moonlight, "like the head of the Baptist on Herodias's charger," said Koble. "Except that he feels himself much better off than that poor devil," remarked Rosenbusch, who was comfortably drinking and smoking. "You must know that we wouldn't have had the absurd idea of making a pilgrimage out here on Saturday evening, in company with the whole population of Munich, had not our sweethearts shown us the way. Papa Glovemaker has permitted them to visit a Frau godmother, who is staying in Starnberg for the summer. We had no sooner gotten wind of this, through a trusty go-between, than we very naturally made up our minds that we could find no better place to spend to-morrow than here. Of course, we have taken care to make arrangements for meeting to-morrow. We are going to take you with us as guard of honor, Philip Emanuel. It is to be hoped you have no objections to the plan?"

"Not the slightest," responded Koble, good-naturedly. "Of course, the Frau godmother will fall to my share."

"And how about Elfinger's sweetheart? Is that little bride of heaven also in the conspiracy?" asked Fat Rossel, who was sitting in his rocking-chair again.

"Nothing certain is known about that; but, at all events, our friend builds great hopes upon this favor of fortune, which will permit him, for the first time, to pass several hours in the company of his darling. Only think; we also succeeded, a short time since, in finding out what it really is that has disgusted the good child with the world, and that is driving her into the convent by main force."

He cast a look upon the lake, as though he were measuring the distance between the balcony where they sat and the swimmer in the water.

"If you will keep close about it, I will tell you the secret," he continued, in a low voice. "After all, it only does honor to the poor girl that she wants to take the sins of others on her own shoulders, and do penance for them all her life long. Papa Glove-maker, you must know, appears to have been by no means such a very long-faced character in his youth, but, on the contrary, to have led a pretty wild life, and to have been mixed up in scrapes that were not always of a particularly edifying nature. However, he married young, and soon after this event there came a mission of Jesuits to the city, or to some place in the neighborhood--on this subject the records are silent--and the young sinner, who had already had ample opportunity for repentance in his marriage relations, allowed his conscience to be shaken to such an extent by the priests that he suddenly took a fancy to retire almost entirely from the world, neglected his business so that he almost reduced himself to beggary, and practically separated himself from his young wife. He had long lost her love, for which he did not seem to care; but this was not the worst. Devoted to his vigils and penances, he is said to have known of and condoned an intimacy which she soon after formed with a young landscape-painter, who lived for a long time in the house. The birth of a little girl, who was named Fanny, ended this relation; but, even then, the friendship shown for the artist did not at once cease. He stood as the child's godfather; and every year afterward he continued, although he had removed from Munich, to make a visit to the house on little Fanny's birthday. It was soon obvious, however, that Herr Glove-maker's views had changed; that he viewed him with less and less favor each time that he appeared; and that a crisis was approaching. And so, on one of these birthdays, when the girl had already begun to think for herself a little, there must have been a scene between her three elders, which was overheard by the unfortunate young creature. A sudden revelation came upon her, that terribly darkened and shattered her innocent spirit, so that she grew introspective and melancholy--and perhaps she had some spiritual adviser who was always giving her new fancies, and painting the terrors of the hereafter in stronger colors. Nanny, our informant says, knows nothing of the whole horrible business; and Fanny used to be just such another merry creature. If this melancholy idea did not so weigh upon her--that she must do penance for the sins of her parents--she would be as healthy, bright, and warm-blooded as her younger sister. Since Elfinger has learned this family secret, he has gained new hopes of turning this little bride of heaven back from the cloister. But it will hardly succeed; and if he doesn't use heroic remedies--"

He didn't finish his sentence; for just then his friend, refreshed by his bath, came running up the steps; and now, with an obvious sense of comfort, but with the rather quiet manners habitual to him, gave himself up to the enjoyment of the wine. Kohle, too, spoke only in monosyllables, so that Rosenbusch and Rossel had to bear the burden of the conversation. Moreover, as the day had been hot, and as they all really needed rest, the bottles were soon emptied, and the airy spot on the bank of the lake deserted.

Upon entering the house, Kohle's first care was to light the candles. Then he dragged out two woolen blankets from a wardrobe, where all sorts of things were stored. While occupied with this work he allowed his eyes to wander stealthily and tenderly over the long wall of the little room, as if he were measuring off and taking possession of the site of his future deeds. Two low, well-stuffed divans stood against these walls, an old table occupied the centre, and over it hung a chandelier with polished brass branches. The broad glass door of the hall opened upon the lake, and no sound penetrated into this airy room but the gentle murmur of the splashing waves, and a soft snoring from the chamber near the kitchen where old Katie had her bed. After all the doors had been shut and locked, even this nocturnal music was heard no longer.

The two new guests had just stretched themselves out on their couches, by way of experiment, and had wished their host good-night with a great deal of laughter and joking, when they were roused again by a distant ring at the park gate. Kohle hastily seized a light and ran out. Five minutes after they heard him return; he was talking with some one whose voice they none of them seemed to recognize. But, the moment they entered, the three shouted as with one voice:

"Our baron! And so late at night!"

They had recognized Felix more from his figure and bearing than from his features, though the light of the candle fell full upon his face; for it looked wan and transformed as if by some severe illness. His eyes, roaming restlessly about the room, had a piercing, feverish glitter, so that his friends stormed him with questions as to whether he was sick or had seen a ghost on his way through the wood.

He gave a forced laugh, passed his hand across his cold forehead, on which great beads of perspiration were standing, and declared that he had never felt better in his life, and that he was as proof against ghosts as the babe unborn. In spite of all this, there was something constrained in all his movements, and his voice sounded hoarse and unnatural, as it often does when a person is laboring under great excitement.

He told how he too had been unable to find quarters in Starnberg, and had left the horse on which he had ridden out at the tavern, in order to make the remaining half-hour's journey to Rossel's country-seat on foot; and that, in trying to follow the rather confused directions which had been given him, he had gone a good deal out of his way. It was this that had reduced him to his present demoralized condition. But he would not disturb them on any account, and only asked for a drop of water and a corner where he could stretch himself out, for he was as tired as a dog, and would be content even with a dog's kennel.

He drained off a large glass of wine at a single swallow, then, with averted face, shook hands with his friends and made a few forced jokes--something he never thought of doing when he was quite himself. He flatly refused to accept of Kohle's offer to give up his bed to him, but gladly consented to be led into the studio, where, by the aid of a few blankets, a deer-skin, and a shawl, they succeeded in transforming an old garden-bench into a very respectable bed. Then, without even waiting for the others who had escorted him up-stairs to leave the room, he threw himself down upon the couch--"already half in the other world," he tried to say, jestingly, as he nodded good-night to the others.

Shaking their heads, his friends left him. It was evident that this late visit could be explained by no such innocent circumstances as had occasioned that of the two who had preceded him. But, while they were still standing outside the door exchanging remarks about Felix's singular condition, they learned from the deep breathing within that the object of their anxiety had fallen fast asleep.

CHAPTER III.

The clear song of the birds awoke him while it was still in the gray of the morning, and not a sound could be heard in the house below.

The tops of the pine-trees, seen through the broad studio-window, recalled to his mind where he was, and how and why he had strayed thither.

In the afternoon he had met the lieutenant, whom he had not seen before for a week, although he had zealously frequented all the places where Schnetz was generally to be found. He knew that Irene had left the city with her uncle. In his dull consternation upon learning this in reply to an indirect inquiry at the hotel, he had not even inquired in which direction they had gone. She had fled from him, that he knew; his mere silent presence sufficed to frighten her away, to make the town in which he lived distasteful to her. Whither had she fled? To Italy, as she had at first planned?--to the east or to the west? What did it matter to him, since he dared not follow her? Nor did he really care to make any inquiries of Schnetz, who undoubtedly knew all about it. And yet he was eager to see the only human being who might possibly give him news of her. And when at last he encountered him in the street, after a day of depression and brooding, on which he had not even seen Jansen and had neglected his work, his heart beat so fast and his face flushed so deeply that it seemed as if his unsuspecting friend could not help reading all his secret thoughts in his eyes. And it really did so happen that the very first words which Schnetz ejaculated, in reply to Felix's inquiry as to how he was, had reference to the fugitives.

Things went wretchedly with him. He had hoped to be rid of his serfdom and slavery to woman, now that his whimsical little princess had gone off with her servile valet of an uncle! Vain idea! The chain which held him now reached as far as Starnberg, and only an hour ago he had felt himself jerked by it in anything but a gentle way. A note from the uncle summoned him to come out in all haste on the following day. Visits had been announced for Sunday from all manner of youthful haute volés, noble cousins and their followers; but the old lion-hunter had previously accepted an invitation to a shooting-match at Seefeld, which it would be quite impossible for him to escape, and his niece, poor child, who, for some reason or other, was daily growing paler and more nervous in the country air, felt herself quite incapable of doing the honors of the little villa without the assistance of a zealous and active cavalier. Consequently, Schnetz was her last hope, and he could assure him of Irene's kindest welcome, and of his own eternal gratitude if he would come and be her knight! "You will readily understand, my dear baron," concluded the grumbling cavalier, slapping his high boots with his riding-whip, "that there are moral impossibilities which prevent the slave from breaking his chain. But to the hundred times I have already cursed this Algerian camp-friendship, I have added to-day the one hundred and first. It is true, I certainly have a certain curiosity to see how this 'kindest welcome' of her proud little highness will seem. You know I have a secret weakness for this gracious little tyrant of mine. But it is asking a great deal of me to expect that I should bear with her whims and humors for a whole day. Pity me, happy man! you who are free from all service, and receive no other orders than those which come from the genius of art."

His speech had been long enough for Felix to think of some appropriate and sufficiently cheerful answer.

"You are terribly mistaken, my dear friend," he said, "if you think I wear no chain. Art, do you say? She is a gracious mistress to him alone who has gotten so far as to be able to rule her while he serves her. But, as for a wretched beginner and blunderer to whom she has not yet given her little finger to kiss, no raftsman or woodsman in the mountains groans under such a load. A thousand times I ask myself whether it was not, after all, a piece of folly for me, at my time of life, to join the scholars who are learning her first A B C; and whether I shall not discover to my horror, after the lapse of many weary years, that all this precious time has been thrown out of the window of Jansen's studio. It is certainly large enough for such a purpose."

"Hm!" growled the tall lieutenant. "You are singing a bad song to an old tune. Nowhere do you come across existences that are failures, more frequently than in a city of art like this. It's so damned seductive to go singing--

'Free, ah, free, is the life we lead,

A life filled full of pleasure--'

and yet, what you say is quite right--he who cannot rule art, him she oppresses; and that to a worse degree than does any duty of life. You, as I know you, don't seem to me quite in your proper place. Both of us ought to have come into the world a few centuries earlier; and then I, as a leader of bandits, after the manner of Castruccio Castracani, and you, as a politician of the old energetic and unscrupulous stamp, might not have cut a bad figure. But now, all we can do is to help ourselves as best we can. Now let me tell you something. You have been over-excited, and have lost your spirits. Come out to the lake with me to-morrow. I will introduce you to her young highness. Perhaps you will fall in love with her and find favor in her eyes, and then our little princess and both of us would be made happy at one stroke."

Felix shook his head with increasing embarrassment. "He was not the man for such company," he said, in a stammering voice; "Schnetz would get little honor by introducing him. He couldn't swear that he wouldn't go out to the lake. He certainly did stand in great need of a change of air. But, unfortunately, he could be of no use to him in entertaining his countesses, baronesses, and young nobles."

With these words they had shaken hands and parted.

But no sooner did Felix find himself alone than his passionate grief and his old yearning came upon him with such force that he threw all his resolutions to the winds, and thought only how he could be near her once more. The evening train did not leave for some hours. It would be impossible to wait for it, or to pass the intervening time in any civilized fashion. He hired a horse and mounted, dressed just as he was, and left the town at a sharp trot, without giving notice at his own house of his intended absence, or even taking leave of Jansen.

His horse was none of the best, and was somewhat tired from having been in use before that day. Consequently he was soon obliged to moderate his speed, and had only accomplished half his journey, when the train whirled by him. But he was not at all sorry to have to take the last part of the way at a walk. The nearer he approached his goal, the more conflicting became his feelings. What object had he in coming here at all? He knew that she avoided him, and that she would unquestionably leave this retreat too, if she should form but the slightest suspicion that he was following her, and seeking an opportunity to meet her again. And in what a light must he himself, his pride, his sense of delicacy, appear to her, unless he carefully avoided even the appearance of trying to intrude himself upon the peace that she had won with such difficulty? If she could do without him, ought he to show how painful it still was for him to do without her?

He reined up his horse so sharply that the animal stood still, trembling. All around him were solitary woods, and the road that ran by the side of the railway was utterly deserted. He sprang off, threw the reins over the horse's neck, and threw himself on his back at the side of road, on the thick, dry moss, which sent out a cloud of fragrant dust into the heated air.

Here he lay; and if his manliness had not forbidden him, he would have liked nothing better than to relieve himself by a flood of burning tears, like a helpless, unhappy child, to whom some one has shown its favorite plaything and then taken it away again. Instead of yielding to such girlish weakness, he strengthened and stilled his rebellious heart with that defiant spirit which is the man's form of this youthful feebleness. He gnashed his teeth, cast threatening glances up at the tree-tops and the blue dome of the sky, and behaved himself generally in a way so boyish, and so unworthy of the great statesman that Schnetz believed he had detected in him, that even his horse, hearing his wild, disconnected words, and the strange gnashing and raving by which they were accompanied, looked up in amazement from his grazing, and turned his head toward his rider with an expression of silent pity. "Is it any fault of mine," he raved to himself, "that a ridiculous accident has brought her to the very spot where I was on the point of beginning a new life? Must I fly before her, like a fool, the moment this absurd fate brings her near me again? The world is surely large enough for us both; and yet now, though she knows why I have pitched my tent in this particular place, she persists in haunting the immediate neighborhood, so that I can't take a step outside the gates without running the risk of meeting her. What am I saying? Why, I do not dare even to go out to the lake! I am to be cut off from light and air, and left to smother in the Munich dust! In other words, I am to condemn myself to perpetual imprisonment for a crime of which I do not even repent. No! I owe something to myself as well. Why shouldn't I show that I have put the whole affair behind me once for all, and go on living as though certain eyes were no longer in the world? Cannot one person ignore another? Shall it last forever, this fear of ghosts? As if one couldn't go around a street corner without meeting a dead and buried love!"--he sprang up suddenly, smoothed his hair, and brushed the dust from his coat--"and though her eyes should look down upon me from every window in Starnberg," he cried, "I will ride through the town and laugh at all these apparitions!"

So he swung himself into the saddle again, and rode over the few remaining miles of his journey at a sharp trot. When at last a blue strip of the lake sparkled through the tree-tops, and the houses of the town came into view, a gray, starlit twilight had already settled down; so that, after all, he could ride through the streets between the rows of lighted windows, without any fear of being recognized.

Nevertheless, it was almost a relief to him when, upon inquiry at all of the three inns, he was told that no room could be had for the night. He thought at once of Rossel's little country house, of which he had often heard his friends speak. As the way was described to him, he could still arrive there in good time, and before his friends had gone to bed. So he contented himself with a hasty drink after his sultry ride through the woods, handed over his animal to a hostler, who promised to take good care of it, and got under way again.

He had not had the heart to inquire for Irene's villa, though he had thought for a moment of doing so--only that he might avoid it all the more surely. But he did not allow her name to pass his lips. Clinching his teeth, he went his way, past the garden fences and walls. The warm night had enticed every living thing out into the open air. Under the vines and in the summer-houses, on garden-benches and on balconies, old and young sat, walked, and stood; and here and there one could hear the clear but subdued sound of girlish laughter, as it suddenly burst forth from whispered conversations or deep silence, like a rocket that starts instantly from a humble fire-work into the dark heaven of night. Some one was playing a cither, to which a man's voice sang a low accompaniment; from another house a full soprano voice sang Schubert's Erl King, to the loud music of a piano; and from yet another was heard a violin concerto, with a clarionet obbligato. All harmonized as well as the different voices of the birds in the woods, for the sounds were softened and melted into one another by the sultry night air. Involuntarily Felix stood still and listened.

As chance would have it, his eyes rested on a little house from which came no sound of song or music, and which was overhung with exquisite roses, while tall hollyhocks nodded over the garden-fence. In the upper story was a room with a balcony, lit by a hanging-lamp. The door stood wide open, but the brightly-lighted apartment beyond seemed to be quite empty. Of a sudden, just as the clarionet was playing a solo, a shadow entered the bright frame made by the balcony door. A slender, womanly figure stood on the threshold for a moment, then stepped out in full view and leaned over the balustrade. Her features could not be clearly distinguished from the street, and the watcher below still hesitated to believe his beating heart. But now the shadow moved, and turned its face toward the bright door, as if some one in the room had called to it. For a minute or two the outline of a clear-cut profile could be seen sharply defined against the background of light. It was she!--his beating heart had known her sooner than his open eyes; and now it beat all the more wildly as the apparition disappeared into the room again as quickly as it had come. So this was the place! Now he knew it--now he could mark the house well, so that he might always carefully avoid it by a wide détour. He trembled all over, and his feet would not at first obey him, when he tried to tear himself away and continue his wandering. In his excitement he missed the road that runs along by the lake, and followed the side-road leading to the Seven Springs. It was only when he reached that spot, and found himself in the midst of a swampy thicket, that he became aware of his mistake. Then, with the stars for his guides, he began to search his way back again. But once more he lost the right track; the sweat rolled down his forehead. With laboring breast he forced his way through the thick underbrush; and, panting like a wounded stag, succeeded in reaching a glade from which he could see the railway, and over beyond it, through the tree-tops, the broad surface of the lake, glittering in the moonlight. A signalman whom he met put him upon his way again. He saw that he had already gone far beyond his goal, and his anxiety lest he should disturb his friend by coming to him at so late an hour, quickened his steps. Thus it was that he reached Edward's in the state in which we have already seen him.

But the strength of his youth pulled him through all his troubles overnight. He awoke in the morning with all his senses refreshed from those bright dreams with which the soul, healing silently as her wont is, had striven to restore her shaken balance. Nor did this bright cheerfulness of the morning desert him when he was fully awake, and was forced to admit that matters stood no better with him to-day than on the day before. A feeling of courage made the blood course warmly through his veins: a secret delight in life, and a quiet confidence which he could not altogether destroy, and which was very different from the boastful courage of the previous day. He opened the window and stood for a long time breathings in the fresh fragrance of the firs. Then he stepped before the easel, on which stood Kohle's cartoon representing the first scene of his legend of Venus, a plan of which, sketched in hasty outlines on a long roll of paper, lay near by. Felix was enough of an artist to appreciate this singular conception, even without an explanation; and, in his present romantic and excited state, it attracted him wonderfully. He seated himself on the wooden stool before the easel, and became absorbed in the contemplation of this first sheet, which was now almost completed. The beautiful goddess, leading her boy by the hand, had stepped half out of the shadow of a wild and overgrown gorge, and was gazing wonderingly toward a city which could be seen perched on a distant height, with Gothic battlements and towers. A river, which wound around the base of the hill, was spanned by a quaint old bridge, over which moved a long train of merchants with heavily-laden wagons, accompanied by a few travelers. A little further in the background was a shepherd-boy, stretched out on the grass by the side of his flock, playing a reed pipe and gazing dreamily up at the fleecy summer clouds. The figures were sharply and almost harshly outlined, but there was a certain dignity in the whole, that aided in heightening the fantastic charm of the conception, and in holding the thoughts of the observer aloof from the realities of every-day life.

Felix was still lost--as if in a second morning dream--in the contemplation of this fairy world, when he heard a cautious step creep up the narrow stairway, and stop at his door. He cried "come in," and could not help laughing when he caught sight of Kohle's honest face peering in with an expression as if he feared to find a man in the last stages of illness. Upon his informing his amazed friend that he was in excellent health, and that the picture of the goddess had probably worked this miracle, the artist's features lighted up, and he began, bright morning as it was, to speak of his work in the same spirit of high-strung enthusiasm in which he had fallen asleep the night before, and to give his explanation of the sketches, which, when unrolled, extended across the whole breadth of the studio. Then the fact that Rossel had given him leave to make use of the walls of the dining-room, and had even offered to assist in the painting, had to be communicated to Felix. Then, at last, he told him about the others; how they had risen long ago, and, without waiting for breakfast, had started off for Starnberg--Rosenbusch on matters connected with their love affairs, and in order to make arrangements for effecting a meeting in the afternoon; while Elfinger, who was passionately fond of fishing, had gone to a trout-brook near the Seven Springs, with whose owner he was acquainted--for he insisted upon contributing his share to the day's dinner. The master of the house himself never made his appearance before nine or ten o'clock. He was in the habit of taking his breakfast, and of smoking and reading, in bed; declaring that even then the day was much too long for him not to shorten it by any legitimate stratagem.

But Kohle had not yet finished what he was saying when the stairs once more began to creak, this time under a slower and more ponderous tread. Contrary to his usual habit, Fat Rossel had turned out early, in order to make inquiries concerning Felix's condition. He had not even taken time to complete his toilet, but came in his dressing-gown, his bare feet thrust into his slippers. He was perceptibly relieved when Felix, looking fresh and bright again, advanced to meet him and shook his hand, really touched that his anxious friend should have sacrificed his comfort for his sake.

"There are good fellows still left in this wretched world," he cried; "and I should be a villain indeed to make their lives uncomfortable. It is true, my friends, all within and about me is not just as it should be. But whoever shall see me drawing down the corners of my mouth and making a long face to-day, let him call me a Nazarene and break his maulstick over my back."

Rossel nodded his head thoughtfully at these words, for this sudden change in the young man's mood did not appear quite natural to him; however, he did not say a word, but seated himself on the stool before the easel--having first laid a pillow on it--in order to study Kohle's designs.

"Hm--hm! So--so! Fine--fine!" were the only critical remarks which he uttered for the space of a quarter of an hour. Then, however, he began to go into details, and, as he did so, all the strange traits of his nature came into view.

For, just as his own fancy was inexhaustible in raising buds that never bore fruit, so too, in regard to the works of others, he had gradually lost the faculty of patiently following the slow maturing of a thought in accordance with the inherent laws and quiet workings of Nature. For young people especially he was dangerous, for he first excited them powerfully, and led them in a perfect reel through a world of artistic problems; and then, the moment they went to work in earnest upon a particular task, his keenness and superior knowledge disgusted them with the subject they had taken up, by demonstrating to them a variety of other ways and methods in which the theme might be treated even more happily. Then, if they decided to destroy what they had begun, and begin anew according to one of the ways suggested, they found themselves no better off than before, since the one decisive and final solution always receded farther and farther into unattainable distance. In this way they lost all disposition to strike out boldly and energetically; became hair-splitters and theorists after the style of their master; or, if they did not possess enough mind or money for this, they gave themselves up in their desperation to mere mechanical work, which they pursued in secret, taking good care never to knock again at the door of their former oracle with a question about art.

"There is no one who sees into a picture, or out of it again, as quickly as Rossel," Jansen had once said, and Felix now had an unusually good opportunity of observing the force of this remark, in the manner in which Rossel examined Kohle's designs. For since, in this case, the critic was himself to lend a helping hand, his fancy was even more active than usual in rearranging what had been done, in order that it might, as far as possible, appropriate the picture to itself. How the light effect was to be arranged for every picture, what problems of color would enter into the question, how Giorgione would probably have composed the background, and what effect it would have if, for instance, the whole first scene should be transposed from broad day into evening twilight--all these questions were weighed in the most serious fashion; while all the while the position of the figures, the way in which the space was divided, and the landscape, were so mercilessly changed about, that finally the new conception of the work had scarcely anything in common with the original plan, except the mere subject.

Nor was even this last point to be regarded as definitely settled, but was merely to be looked upon as a basis for further consideration. But, while Kohle's face kept growing longer and more anxious, that of his fellow-laborer beamed with growing satisfaction. Every muscle in it quivered with intellectual life, and his black eyes flashed with genuine enthusiasm from beneath his white forehead. When finally he rose, he extended his arms above his head and cried:

"There is nothing finer than a good work which has been taken hold of at the right end. You shall see, Kohle--the thing will go. I take such pleasure in it that I would begin to-day--at once, if it didn't happen to be Sunday and I had not, before all things, to play the attentive host. However, you will have quite enough to do in making the changes in the cartoon. In the meanwhile I will assist my household dragon in composing a bill of fare--a thing which will take more thought, let me tell you, than even our dame Venus."

As soon as he had gone the two looked at one another, and Felix could not help bursting into a loud laugh, in which poor Kohle joined--at least with a pathetic smile.

"Now you see what comes of being too wise about anything," said he, regarding his sketch with a sigh. "When, in my stupidity, I went straight on following my certa idea, or even my nose, something came of it at all events. But after these criticisms, which were, by-the-way, all excellent and capital and appropriate, I am afraid the whole thing will go to the deuce again! If it were not for the beautiful wall down stairs I would tell him candidly that so ill-mated a span--as ill-matched as an ox and horse--would never drag the plough very far. Better to let the lean horse do the work alone, even though the furrows should not be quite so smooth. Alas, alas, alas! My poor dame Venus!"

CHAPTER IV.

Nevertheless, the creative instinct was too powerful in him to let his depression at the interference of this eternal waverer affect him long, or sap his strength. In the very midst of his upbraiding, after he had angrily thrown the first sheet into a corner, he took a second frame of card-board, and began to sketch the scene where the homeless beauty, with her naked boy, is standing at the gate of the convent, surrounded by the staring nuns, whose looks and attitudes express doubt and suspicion. Felix threw himself on his couch again, and lay smoking, rarely throwing in a word, as he watched every movement of the other's hand. The proximity of this man, who was self-reliant, so humble, and yet so constantly striving at some lofty aim, exercised a singularly soothing influence upon Felix's restless soul. He confessed this, when Kohle began to express surprise that any one should leave the town, head over heels in this way, and rush into the country, in order, when he arrived there, to shut himself up in a sunless garret room, and look on while a man painfully trundled his barrow over a hard road, toward a goal of art which is generally supposed to have long since been left behind.

"My dear Kohle," he said, "only let me stay here. I should like very much to learn something from you which would be of more benefit to me than a walk or a bath in the lake--namely, your art of knowing just what you want, and of wanting nothing which you cannot have. Was this art born in you, or have you gradually acquired it, and paid your instruction-fee for it, as for other arts?'

"The best part of it is inborn," answered Kohle, quietly going on with his sketching. "You must know that I came into this world as poor as a church-mouse, and endowed with so small a proportion of all the goods and gifts that fall to the share of so-called fortunate mortals, the first-born and favorite children of Mother Nature, that, in my boyhood, I had little pleasure in life, and would have parted with it very cheaply. But then I discovered that I possessed something which out-weighed all the glittering treasures in the world--such as beauty, wealth, wit, or great intellect. I mean the ability to dream with my eyes wide open, and to interpret my dreams for myself. The actual world, with its joys and splendors, was as good as closed against a poor devil like myself. How could such a wretched creature as this Philip Emanuel Kohle, this lean, yellow ragamuffin in poor clothes, who stumbled awkwardly through the world, and who could neither fascinate women nor impress men, have the impudence to take his place at the bounteous table at which the children of fortune felt at home? So I held myself aloof, and earnestly and zealously set to work to evolve a second world from my dreams--one which belonged to me, and from which no one could bid me depart--a world which was far more beautiful, sublime, and perfect, than the actual world about me. And as I wasted no time or strength on anything else--neither in wretched money-getting, nor in foolish ambition, nor even in hopeless love affairs--my nature grew up straight and true, and in the greatest development of which it was capable, which is by no means the case with every one; and I could not help laughing in my sleeve, when I noticed that I passed among my friends for a simpleton and a narrow-minded fool. The truth is, my simpleness was the very thing that contributed most to my secret contentment, when I saw how seldom the manifold desires and restless striving of others led to happiness. 'Chi troppo abbraccia, nulla stringe,' say the wise Italians. I embrace nothing but my art; but I embrace it the more passionately because it exists for me alone. There you have the whole secret. There is a juster apportionment of good and evil in this world than we are willing to admit in our hours of depression."

Felix was silent. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he envied him. Yet he felt at once how thoroughly right this quiet man was in his last assertion. He felt that he would not, for all the peace in the world, have given up his own miserable condition; for, at the same time that it gave him the keenest anguish, it brought with it the certainty that so charming a creature as his lost love was still in the world, and had been brought so painfully near to him again.

When noon came, they were called down into the garden by the white-haired old woman, who, in her sober moments, was a most excellent and active servant. The table was laid in a shady arbor near the house. Rosenbusch and the actor had returned from their different expeditions; the latter with a basket full of excellent trout, and the other with a face which showed plainly enough that he too had not come back unsuccessfully but had gained all he had promised himself from his morning walk. He was in full gala-dress, consisting of his violet-colored velvet coat, a white waistcoat, and a gigantic Panama hat, beneath which his hair and his red beard, which had been shorn to so little purpose, had already begun to sprout again. His honest, merry, handsome face was radiant with good-humor; and as Elfinger did his best to be entertaining, and Felix to make up for the alarm he had occasioned on the previous day, the meal was enlivened by all sorts of jollity and good stories.

Nor was there, for that matter, any lack of more substantial dainties; and Kohle, who had voluntarily taken upon himself the office of butler, ran out every few minutes to fetch up another dusty bottle; for Rossel, who was a light drinker himself, had a sort of passion for collecting the rarest brands of wine in his cellar, if only a small supply of each. It was not long before the programme which had been prepared for the afternoon leaked out. They proposed to row over to Starnberg in Rossel's pretty little boat, to land there, and then, while strolling along the shore, to encounter, as if by pure accident, the two sisters, who were to go out with their aunt, under the pretext of taking a walk. Then, upon a polite invitation, they were all to get into the boat again together, and be rowed out upon the lake, in whichever direction circumstances and the mood of the moment might suggest.

Rossel pronounced this plan to be very wisely conceived, but flatly refused to take part in it. He had an aversion, founded on principle, to all pic-nics, especially where there were ladies whom one was obliged to treat with politeness and consideration, relinquishing to them the most comfortable places and the daintiest morsels. For lovers this was no sacrifice, since they could indemnify themselves in other ways. But such a restraint could not be imposed upon free and independent natures without great injustice. He would, therefore, remain at home until the day grew cooler, and study Regis's translation of Rabelais, which he had long had in mind to illustrate. Toward evening he would stroll into the wood in order to take a look at his mushroom-bed; for he had made it his especial task to forward the culture of the mushroom in the woods about Starnberg, as well as the general improvement and introduction of all edible fungi. Then, when they came home late at night, intoxicated with sour beer and sweet words, a supper should await them that would be "worth the toil of princes."

Felix, too, would gladly have remained behind. But there was no way for him to do this without betraying his secret. And, besides, what else could he do to quiet his secret yearning--since it was impossible for him to approach her by daylight? He secretly consoled himself by the thought that, when they returned, late in the evening, he would creep to the garden-fence again, and watch the bright room leading off the balcony.

Philip Emanuel Kohle's feeble attempt to excuse himself, because of his bashfulness in ladies' society, was clamorously voted down. As he was, moreover, the only one of the party who carried a chart of the lake in his head, he could not find it in his heart to desert his friends.

There was a thunder-storm in the air, but it looked as though it had come to a halt in the west, and would pass off harmlessly. The sky was dark and lowering, and the lake was as smooth as a mirror, when the light but roomy boat shot out of the little bay. Rossel stood on the shore, waving his handkerchief and fez. Kohle sat at the tiller, Elfinger rowed, and Rosenbusch, as they glided along past the green banks, took advantage of the permit Rossel had given him, to play upon his flute some of his most pastoral melodies--doubly melting this time, for he was on his way to his sweetheart's side, and to Heaven knows what romantic adventures.

CHAPTER V.

They had scarcely landed at the end of the lake when they saw in the distance the three figures they were looking for, strolling slowly along the road that circled the shore. When within hailing distance, the prearranged farce of a chance meeting and recognition was played with the utmost seriousness, and it was impossible to detect, from the godmother's manner, whether she had accepted a rôle in the comedy, or whether she innocently believed that the two gentlemen who lived opposite the sisters in the city had merely seized this opportunity to exchange a word or two with their lovely neighbors for the first time. The girls bore themselves in accordance with their respective characters--the elder quiet and sparing of words, the younger gay and coquettish even to audacity. They were dressed charmingly, and indeed almost elegantly; but Fanny wore dark ribbons, while Nanny's little hat was adorned with a red rose and trimmings of the same color. The battle-painter had warned the good Kohle at the dinner-table against the godmother, as a pious creature, enthusiastic about art and notorious for enticing into her net innocent young painters of a serious turn of mind. But she was, in fact, a pleasant little soul enough, far on in the thirties. She had lost her husband, a well-to-do confectioner, shortly after their marriage, and was fond of protesting, with many sighs, that she never, never could forget him. A Gothic temple, made of sugar and adorned with numerous figures of saints, which he had made for their marriage, as a sort of triumph of his art, still stood in a state of good preservation under a glass case upon her sideboard. Nevertheless rumor said of her that she had not always harshly repulsed the numerous offers she had received as a widow, though she had been too wise to give the slightest cause for public gossip. Certain ecclesiastical gentlemen, who were in the habit of going in and out of her house, gave her the best certificate of character; and though she did not close her door to young artists, she took care to see that they were proper, respectable people, who painted church pictures with long robes, and did not wear their shirt-collars after the fashion of too erratic genius; and that they held aloof from all pagan theories of art. To this godly way of life she owed it that her own godmother, the glove-maker's wife, had trusted her with "the children" for a day, although some malicious people pretended to think that to go gadding into the country was not exactly the thing for well-preserved widows.

She was quite modestly dressed, but yet in such a way that her figure, already somewhat inclined to embonpoint, was shown to the best advantage. In her manner she kept a wise mean between the severe dignity which a God-fearing woman of an uncertain age usually maintains toward youthful giddiness, and a too free approval of the pranks that danced through her godchild's head. At the same time she did not try to keep the silent Felix from knowing that his slim, manly form had made an impression on her; though she was wise enough to do it so slyly as to give a motherly sort of aspect to her interest in him. It was only when the ungrateful man, whose poor soul was quite unconscious of its conquest, continued to walk at her side in complacent abstraction, casting furtive glances all around to see whether he was running directly in the way of her whom he must especially avoid--then only did she withdraw her favor from him and bestow it upon the insignificant Kohle, whom Rosenbusch had introduced to her as a painter of the severest style, a disciple of the great Cornelius, and one whom she needed only to make a better Christian in order to win in him a new pillar of ecclesiastical art. Kohle submitted to it all with a most patient smile, and really began to pay pronounced attention to this stately creature as well as he knew how, merely that he might not seem to stand in the way of the others' sport.

They had been strolling up and down the shore for about a quarter of an hour in this way, when, as if without the slightest premeditation, the proposal was made that they should take an excursion on the water; a proposal which was accepted after a good deal of well-acted hesitation on the part of the godmother, and much entreating and flattering and coaxing on the part of the blonde Nanny.

Soon afterward the boat, with its merry freight, shot out upon the sunny lake, rowed now by Felix, who had had occasion to exercise this noble art on many waters of the Old World and the New. Kohle sat at the tiller and thought only of his dame Venus, notwithstanding the nearness of the beautiful art-enthusiast who was opposite him. The two pairs of lovers occupied the middle seats, Elfinger gazing devotedly on the lovely face of his neighbor, who let her little white hand trail through the green water, and seemed to-day to enjoy the beauty of this world with all her heart. She held a large sunshade over her head in such a way that her companion might also profit by its shade; the first favor she had ever bestowed upon him, and one which made its modest recipient very happy. Her vivacious sister, on the other hand, maintained that Rosenbusch's great hat was really a family straw-hat, and could afford protection against sunstroke to a whole ship's crew. She freely exposed her laughing face to the sun, bound a white handkerchief to her sunshade, which she planted like a flagstaff between herself and her adorer, and declared that she was looking forward with great pleasure to the storm which was undoubtedly about to burst forth and bury them all in the depths of the lake, with the exception of those who could swim--swimming being a great passion of her own. She also offered to save one of the others, only it must not be Rosenbusch, whose velvet coat was too heavy, and would certainly drag down its owner.

Aunt Babette--for this was the godmother's name--attempted now and then to give her a reproving glance. But, as no one took the slightest notice of this, she made up her mind to become young and worldly again herself, particularly as the heat made all restraint doubly burdensome. She unwound the lace shawl from her round shoulders, drew off her gloves and untied her ribbons, so that she looked in her négligé almost as young and certainly as full of life as the serious Fanny. She laughed even louder than the two girls at the jests and tricks which Rosenbusch displayed for their amusement. He was celebrated for his power of mimicking the whirring of a quail, the cackling of a hen, and the noise of a saw. He told long and ridiculous stories in different dialects, and delivered a sermon, with the most solemn pulpit utterance, in a senseless jargon which he gave out to be English. But his great masterpiece was a pantomimic scene representing nuns praying at their nightly devotions. To do this he bound a handkerchief round his head, and wrapped himself up in a lady's cloak so that only his eyes, the tip of his nose, and his hands-folded over his breast--were left visible, and then began with hypocritical zeal and constant change of expression to roll his eyes and nod his head and murmur over his rosary, now as an antiquated, dozing nun, who kept dropping off to sleep between her prayers; now as a deeply contrite and extravagantly penitent sinner, and again as a well-to-do sister, grown gray in the convent, who had long since learned to regard the matter from its practical side, and refrained from unnecessary exertion, but strove from time to time to keep up her spirits by taking a stolen pinch of snuff.

This amateur exhibition had worked so irresistibly that even the worthy godmother nearly lost her balance from laughter, and had to be supported by Kohle; and it was only when the show had come to an end that it seemed to strike the conscience of its mischievous author that he might possibly have offended Elfinger's devout fiancée by this absurd parody. Whereupon, assuming an air of mock contrition, he begged a thousand pardons of Fräulein Fanny, while in secret he reckoned it as a good work to have given her a foretaste of the joys that awaited her. Then, as if in penance for his offense, he suddenly began to play the "O Sanctissima" upon his flute, with such beauty and pathos that even the wild Nanny grew serious, and began to sing a gentle accompaniment, in which her sister joined.

It rang out sweetly over the lonely, brooding stillness of the lake, so that they did not end with this first song, but followed each other with their favorite airs.

Elfinger sang an excellent tenor, and took great pains to make his song strike home to the heart of his lovely neighbor. The two rowers alone were dumb, though they had drawn in their oars upon getting well out upon the water. Kohle had no more voice than a crow, and Felix felt as if his breast were encircled by the seven girdles of the legend.

As they floated along thus peacefully and quietly, a west wind sprung up, and carried them unnoticed toward the opposite shore, where a much-frequented garden-restaurant smiled on them from out the verdure of a gently-sloping bank. Elfinger proposed that they should land here and drink some coffee--a suggestion to which no one had an objection to offer. And while they drifted slowly toward the shore he closed the entertainment with a song which Rosenbusch had once written for one of their feasts in "Paradise." It went to the tune of a popular melody, and the author accompanied it skillfully on his flute.

CHAPTER VI.

While the few stanzas of the song were sung, they had approached so close to the bank that the people in the garden, where a mixed Sunday company was collected, could hear the flute, and could even catch the words. Some of the guests had left their places in order to take a nearer look at the musicians; and as Rosenbusch had a large circle of acquaintances, he was enthusiastically greeted on all sides. With an air of complacent self-importance, he conducted his lady, who was suddenly overcome with fear lest she too might be recognized and reported to her father, to the only table which was still unoccupied. The others followed; Felix alone remained behind for a few minutes at the boat to repair some trifling damage to the rudder.

Then, as he started after his friends, seeking them in the crowd from table to table, until he finally caught sight of Nanny's coquettish little hat with the red rose by the side of the white "family straw" of her cavalier--what was it that made him suddenly stand still in the scorching sun, with his eyes fixed upon a little summerhouse, in which six persons were sitting about a round table?

It was the shadiest spot in the garden, and the party within had caused it to be distinctly understood that they had no intention of admitting any others, by occupying all the chairs that were still vacant with their hats, umbrellas, and canes. Nearest the entrance, like a sentry, sat the tall, lank figure of the lieutenant, in his well-known riding-coat; and at his side a slender young lady with downcast eyes, as if, in the midst of all this confused buzz and hum of conversation, she were occupied only with her own thoughts.

Just then Schnetz addressed some remark to her, and she looked up and let her glance wander over the garden. Thus it happened that her gaze met that of the young man who was standing so conspicuously in the sun. It is true, he instantly lowered his eyes; but he had already been recognized, and could no longer think of retreating unnoticed. Besides, at that very moment he felt himself touched on the arm by Kohle, who had been up to the restaurant in the mean while to order coffee.

"What are you standing here for?" cried his busy friend. "Come and help me entertain the Frau godmother, who is boring me to death with her talk about the black Madonna in Altötting, just from pure spite because you play St. Anthony to her."

Felix stammered out a few unintelligible words and allowed himself to be dragged away. The chair which they had reserved next to Aunt Babette stood, fortunately, with its back toward the summer-house. But scarcely had he seated himself in it when Rosenbusch began: "Have you seen our lieutenant, baron? This respected amphibion is taking his dry day to-day among the nobler fowl, and appears, to judge from his disconsolate air, to be gazing with longing at our moist element. What a joke it would be if I should go up and beg him to introduce me to the old countess and the young baroness! The latter would probably remember having met me at that soirée at the Russian lady's, where you left me to make love to her alone."

Whereupon he gave the girls and their godmother a detailed account of the musical entertainment, and of his conversation with Irene. Little Nanny, who had possibly been infected by some of papa's prejudices in regard to art, should be made to understand how highly a battle-painter is regarded in the highest social circles, and what an enviable position would be accorded to her as his wife. But the lively girl did not appear to form a very exalted idea of his success.

"Are you quite sure, Herr Rosenbusch," she said, "that they recognized you again? The beautiful Fräulein scarcely moved her head when you took off your hat to her, as though she meant to say, 'You are undoubtedly mistaken in the person, sir.'"

"It was merely her surprise, and a passing feeling of displeasure at seeing me approach in such charming company. She may have attributed too much meaning to the pretty speeches I made to her that night. These high-born Fräuleins are devilish sensitive, and for that reason I now refrain from speaking to her. But why don't you go over and introduce yourself to the ladies, my dear baron--you who have blue blood as well as they?"

Just at this moment Schnetz, in all his lankness, stepped up to their table and greeted the ladies with formal politeness, at the same time shaking hands with his friends. The fact that he should meet Felix here did not seem to strike him as strange.

"You happy mortals!" he growled out, biting his cigar, and pulling his hat down lower over his forehead, while he withdrew a little distance from the rest with Felix and Elfinger. "You all get on so capitally together, and it does one good to hear you laugh so heartily; while we are keeping up the usual sort of conventional twaddle, which consists, upon my soul, in each one's saying nothing which the others could not have said as well. They have just been wondering, behind my back, that I should have anything whatever to do with you people, whom they look upon as mauvais genre. A few artists and two pretty girls, at whose papa's Madame the Countess buys her gloves--quelle horreur! But the ladies are not so bad; even the young countess, with the fixed dimples in her highly-colored cheeks--by Heaven! little Fanny over there looks ten times as much like a countess--even she is a good child, au fond, and the right sort of a husband might still make something of her. But as for that cousin of hers, to whom she is as good as engaged, and the other young nobleman, with the imperial and the heavy manner--between ourselves, he is dead in love with my little princess, who scarcely honors him with a look--tonnerre de Dieu! what nice specimens they are of our high-born youth! And to think of my being condemned to go about among them without treading on their toes! Thus are the sins of the fathers visited upon the children! The first Schnetz who, whether as marshal or hostler, helped an Agilolfinger into the saddle, has it on his conscience that I, the unworthiest of his descendants, still belong with the rest of them, hard as I try to make myself disagreeable and even unbearable."

They agreed to meet again in the evening at Rossel's villa, and then returned to their respective parties. But our friends soon grew impatient of quietly sitting at table over their coffee. The neighboring wood invited the lovers where they could be free from chaperonage, and Aunt Babette was paying too close attention to an exposition of art by the "interesting young man," as she called Kohle, to take any heed of the fact that Rosebud and Nanny occasionally disappeared from view entirely, while Fanny anxiously insisted upon not getting out of sight of the others.

Felix soon lost himself in a lonely side-path. His heart was hot within him, and wild plans chased one another through his brain. He realized only too well that matters could not go on in this way; that this state of indecision after the decision would soon drive him to despair. If the old world really was not large enough for him to avoid one woman in, the ocean must separate them again, and this time forever. What he was to do over there; how he could justify his resolution to Jansen, or reconcile it with his choice of art as a profession, or with his own pride, were questions which were still enveloped in darkness. But as for tamely submitting, and allowing himself to be made a fool of by capricious fortune, which seemed as if it had deliberately set itself to work to bring the two lovers together on every possible occasion--to this he would never consent!

Whether he himself had not played into the hands of chance a little, yesterday, was a question he did not ask.

A distant peal of thunder, rolling toward him from the west, suddenly roused him from these confused and bitter thoughts. The sky above the tree-tops was still blue, but was overcast by that light, lead-colored haze which precedes an approaching storm. There was no time to waste if they wanted to get across the lake before the storm should break. For already the air held its breath so utterly that not a leaf rustled on the trees, and not even the note of a bird was heard. The lake, along the banks of which Felix was hastening, was still unruffled by a breath of wind; but its mid-waters were black with the reflection of the heavy, low-hanging cloud that spread over the heaven like a gigantic slab hewn from a single block of slate. Behind it, the bright sunlight still glowed on the horizon, and the distant mountain chain shone out in the delicate green of spring, as if bathed in eternal peace.

The approach of the storm had been observed by the people in the garden, and most of the guests had been prudent enough to embark on the steamboat which had just left, and was now half-way over to Starnberg. But by the time Felix had joined his friends again it was too late for them to choose this shorter way. Besides, Rossel's villa was a good deal nearer than the Starnberg station, and Rosenbusch, who always had his head full of adventures, was already dreaming of the improvised quarters for the night, which should be prepared for the ladies in the dining-room. He took very good care, however, not to give utterance to these romantic projects, but merely urged a hasty departure, in order that they might escape the rain.

When they reached the landing-place, they found Schnetz and his party engaged in an annoying scene.

The young boatman who had rowed them over flatly refused to start on the return trip, in view of the storm that threatened to break upon them at any moment. The boat was too heavily loaded to get over the water quickly, and his master had given him a bad pair of oars, the good ones having been sent off with another boat early in the morning. The gentlemen might offer him what they liked, but he would not make the trip; he knew what he was saying, and what it meant "when the lake and the sky came so near together."

One of the young gentlemen was addressing the lad--who was a neatly-dressed young fellow, and wished, perhaps, to spare his Sunday clothes--in rough and imperious tones, commanding him to obey without further parley, and to leave the responsibility to them. The lake was as smooth as a mirror, and there was so little wind that the storm might very likely be an hour in reaching them. But when, upon the boatman's remaining obstinate, he tried to wrench the oar from the defiant fellow's hand, saying that, if a lout like him had no pluck, he might at least get out of the way and take himself to the devil--all the man's pent-up fury and insulted amour propre burst out; with an angry answer in the most forcible epithets of his country dialect, he threw the oar at the young count's feet, took his jacket out of the boat, and, with a malicious grin, wishing the company a pleasant journey, started off toward the highway which winds along by the lake-shore.

"The thunder-storm comes just right for him," said the waiter-girl, who had been attracted to the spot by the quarrel, and who now stood gazing after the angry fellow as he hurried away. "The ladies and gentlemen mustn't think that Hiesl had started to run back to his father's on foot; he knew well enough there was going to be a wedding celebrated in Ambach, and had been impatient to get there for some time; for the red-haired waiter-girl in the tavern there had completely turned his head, and all because she wouldn't have anything to do with him--though he would marry her on the spot if she would take him, and he was not one to be sneezed at either, and was earning a good living too. So he had caught at the pretext that the storm would be upon them before the party could get back to Starnberg again, and was on his way as fast as his legs would carry him, so as to get to Ambach, which was nearly an hour from here, with a dry skin. Oh! these men!"

She seemed to think it very foolish for him to run so far, when he could find all he wanted close at hand. But in reply to their question, whether there really was so much danger of the storm, she gave the most comforting assurances; it might not reach them for several hours yet, and, very likely, if a wind should spring up it would pass over altogether.

The young count, who now regarded it as a matter of honor to undertake the trip and to outshine the obstinate boor by his superior skill as a boatman, allayed all the old countess's doubts and fears; and the young people did not shrink from a trifling lake-storm, particularly as Schnetz, who was filled with horror at the bare thought of staying here overnight, declared that there was not the slightest reason for anxiety. He himself would take charge of the tiller as he had done when they came out, and in half an hour they would undoubtedly be landed safe and sound at the opposite bank.

The whole scene had taken place so near the spot where the artists and their companions stood, that not a word had escaped them. They were, however, in even less of a humor to let themselves be frightened by the distant growling of the heavens, and had already rowed out quite a little distance into the lake before the more aristocratic boat shoved off from shore. Felix bent to his oar with redoubled energy in order to put as much water as possible between himself and his beloved enemy, and it looked as though they would reach the opposite shore in half the time usually needed for the passage.

Nevertheless, it was strange that on this return voyage such a deep silence should have succeeded to the high spirits with which they had first rowed over. Even Rosenbusch said nothing, but contented himself with casting the most eloquent glances at his sweetheart, who now sat silent and pensive, with her head resting on her sister's shoulder. Elfinger and his beloved looked away from one another down into the dark water; and only Aunt Babette gave a little scream from time to time when a vivid flash of lightning tore zigzag through the blue-black clouds, and illuminated the woods on the bank in a green, ghastly glare.

The young nobleman in the other boat pulled a good oar. He was a handsome, chivalrous young fellow, who certainly did not deserve the contempt with which Schnetz had spoken of him. In order that the ladies who had intrusted themselves to his care might be landed in safety as soon as possible, he sought to overtake the other boat, in spite of its lead. But his powerful exertions came to an end in a very unexpected way. One of the oars, rotten with age, suddenly broke short off in the middle; and at the same instant the first gust of wind swept with a melancholy howl across the surface of the lake, which, as if transformed by the touch of a magician's wand, began suddenly to surge like a miniature raging ocean.

Schnetz rose from his seat at the tiller.

"I entreat the ladies not to prove false to the coolness they have thus far shown, because of this little accident," he said. "We could undoubtedly get across even without a second oar. But to have one will be better. I will inquire of my artist friends over yonder if they haven't one to spare."

He wore a little metal whistle, suspended by a green cord from a button on his waistcoat. With this he piped a sort of boatswain's signal.

Elfinger started. "That is Roland's call!" he said, seriously. "What can he want of us?"

Felix raised his oar from the water; the two boats approached one another.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Schnetz, "allow me, first of all, to make you acquainted with one another, as well as such a thing can be done on such a rocking floor, and without the customary bows. I have the honor, ladies, to introduce you to my friend Baron Felix von Weiblingen, who has just deserted a diplomatic career for the liberal arts, and, as you perceive, knows how to handle the oar as skillfully as the chisel and modeling-tool. Herr Graf ----, Herr Baron ----, Messieurs Rosenbusch and Elfinger--the ladies, I understand, are already known to one another. Look here, baron, can't you help us out with an oar? One of ours has come to grief. We have suffered a slight shipwreck."

Felix stood up. Although the waves rocked the little boat violently, his slender, powerful figure stood out strong and erect against the black, stormy sky. At the approach of danger he had recovered all his coolness and confidence, qualities which he had often enough had a chance to test in his adventurous journeyings through the solitudes of the New World. Even the face opposite him in the other boat, the pale oval framed by the hood of a gray cloak from beneath which straggled a brown lock--even the glance of those eyes, which preferred to gaze down into the dark, tempestuous depths rather than to meet his--nothing could shake his coolness now when the time had come for him to show himself master of the moment.

"We carry a few extra oars with us, it is true," he shouted back, raising his voice, for the storm began to howl louder and louder. "But I should prefer to help you with them in our own boat--Elfinger is an excellent oarsman--and to fasten your craft to ours. Then we will take you in tow, and the passage will be much safer and quicker; for your boat is a flat-bottomed, badly-built affair, without keel or cut-water, and all you gentlemen are in it for the first time."

"Agreed!" roared Schnetz in return. "Let us connect ourselves with our remorqueur with all possible speed, and then vogue la galère!"

Rossel's well-equipped craft had, fortunately, a good supply of ropes at hand, so that Kohle, from his seat at the stern, soon drew the drifting boat up to his own and made it fast with a firm knot. Then Felix and Elfinger bent to their oars, and their four strong arms seemed to drive the two boats as if in sport over the raging surface of the water.

Not a word was spoken in either vessel. To the countess's whispered question to Irene: whether this young baron belonged to the well-known Weiblingens in D----, there came no answer. The young countess had grown as pale as her high-colored complexion would permit. Her cousin sought to conceal his ill-humor at the accident, by trying to light a cigar; but the wind was too much for him. In the first boat, too, a breathless silence reigned. Rosenbusch alone bent over from time to time, and whispered a few words to his blonde sweetheart, but they were lost forever in the storm. The gale raged above their heads with increasing fury, lightning and thunder burst almost continuously from the black clouds, and the blast, as it whirled the tumult through the sky, seemed so violent that the clouds had no time to dissolve in rain. All around the shore lay wrapped in darkness, and in the south, where gusts of rain mingled the sky and lake together, every trace of the mountain line had disappeared.

Suddenly Felix's voice made itself heard at the extreme end of the little flotilla: "I think it advisable, Schnetz, for us to change our course. Otherwise we shall tire ourselves out pulling against this head-wind without making any progress westward. In spite of all our exertions, we haven't reached the middle of the lake yet, and, as we may expect a deluge at any moment, I would propose, in the interest of the ladies, that we turn about and try to reach the land quickly at any price. What do you say?"

"That we have no voice whatever in the matter!" Schnetz shouted back. "In a storm the captain commands upon his own responsibility! and with that, enough said!"

A strong shove of the tiller showed that Kohle had decided in favor of silent obedience. The good effects of the change were felt immediately; for now the two boats, sailing with the current and the wind, skimmed as though with wings over the high waves.

But they already had been driven too far toward the south to reach their old harbor again. When they had approached near enough to the bank to distinguish trees and houses, they saw a scene which they did not recognize--an inn close upon the lake, from whose windows streamed a bright light and the merry sound of dance-music.

"We have arrived just in time for the wedding," growled Schnetz. "If we don't go to the devil first, we can while away the time by dancing--the best way to get rid of all the bad effects of our fright. May I have the honor, countess, of engaging you for a cotillion?"

The old lady, who had been suffering the keenest alarm, and had secretly made all sorts of vows to her patron saints, drew a long breath of relief, and said, laughing nervously: "If anything had happened to us, mon cher Schnetz, your godlessness would have been to blame for sending so many good people to the bottom. Well, Dieu soit loué, nous voilà sains et saufs. Melanie, your hair is atrociously disordered. How have you borne it, my dear Irene?"

"I was not afraid. Still I shall be glad to get on shore."

And, indeed, just at this moment, the rain-drops began to fall one by one on the broad surface of the lake.

Another quarter of an hour of vigorous work at the oars and the foremost boat passed through the surf of the flat shore and ran up on the beach. Felix sprang on shore and helped out the sisters and the godmother. When it came to the turn of the party in the other boat, he left to his friends the duty of setting the ladies ashore dry-shod, while he busied himself in fastening the two boats to posts upon the bank.

The old countess came up to him, overflowing with earnest assurances of her gratitude, which he politely put aside. Upon her presently repeating her inquiry about his family, he dryly replied:

"I come from beyond the sea, countess, and have left my family tree in the backwoods. But you will get wet if you stay out here any longer. My friend, Herr Koble, will have the honor of conducting you into the house. It is well known that a captain must not leave his ship until it lies safe at anchor."

The good lady wondered to herself that a young man, who seemed to be so comme il faut, should relinquish the honor of becoming her knight to a bourgeois. But as she was rather confused and helpless, and did not exactly know where to look for her son and son-in-law, she accepted the painter's arm with condescending amiability, and, turning around every instant to see that her daughter was following, she hastened toward the house, in which the music had not ceased for a moment.

Schnetz had taken possession of the two sisters, and the young count approached Irene to conduct her into the house. But she declined his proffered arm with a gesture of thanks, wrapped herself closer in her cloak, and hastened after the others.

She had not looked around at Felix, but at the threshold she hesitated. Perhaps her beating heart was secretly whispering to her to turn, rush into the storm and rain, and call to the lonely man upon the shore.

Just at this moment her cousin turned to her with some casual question, laid a hand upon her arm, and drew her across the hall into the guests' room. She threw back her head with such a hasty movement, that her hood fell off. Her young face, which she had learned only too well how to keep under control, became cold and stern, and the moment which might have broken the ice passed away unused.

CHAPTER VII.

Nor had Felix looked around at Irene. And yet he knew exactly when she entered the door, and vanished into the house.

His work on the shore had long been completed. The two boats were fastened securely to their chains, and the heavy surf bumped their wooden sides against one another with a dull, monotonous sound. It was by no means pleasant here in the rain. The drops fell thicker and faster; leaves and twigs were torn from the trees near the boathouse, and sent whirling far and wide. And yet this lonely man here in the storm could not even now make up his mind to seek refuge in the house, which stood before him with its bright windows looking so hospitable and cozy, and protecting a crowd of happy beings from the furies of the gale.

He was just considering whether he should not retreat, into one of the boats which, lying under the roof of the boat-house, would at least offer him a dry place of refuge, when a vivid flash of lightning lit up the darkness around, and in the next instant, even before the thunder-clap had time to follow, he heard a scoffing laugh, not far away. He saw now that he was not quite alone. On the bridge of the steamboat-landing, which was built on piles and ran out for some distance into the lake, stood the young boatman who, an hour before, had foretold the storm, and had refused to make the return journey. As if he felt at home amid this whirlwind, he stood there in his shirtsleeves, his jacket thrown over his shoulder, bareheaded, smoking a short pipe, and leaning upon the railing of the bridge. His eyes were fixed with an evil, piercing fire upon Felix, whom he had probably mistaken for the young count because he had been busied with the boats. As soon as the noise of the thunder had died away, he burst out anew in a loud, scoffing laugh. "So Hiesl is a stupid boor, and doesn't know anything--not even his own business? He ought to learn it from the city gentlemen? Ha, ha, ha! I only wish you had had all the flesh washed off your bones. Ha, ha, ha! Well, look sharp now, and carry the thing through. It's just jolly inside there, and perhaps next time Heaven will have sense enough to--"

The howling of the storm drowned the rest of his speech. Felix had a sharp reply on the tip of his tongue, with which to rebuke the fellow, and at the same time to show him that he had made a mistake in the person. But now the tempest broke in such a terrible deluge of rain that he was absolutely deprived of sight and hearing, and had to grope his way to reach the house with a tolerably dry skin.

The heavy house-door was torn from its chain by the storm, and closed behind him with a deafening crash. In the lower entry a number of people sat at little tables hung on hinges along the wall, and just large enough to hold the plates and beer-mugs. A country waiting-maid, who was coming out of the kitchen, told Felix that his party were up-stairs dancing, and asked whether he wanted anything. He silently shook his head, and slowly ascended the stairs; not with the intention of joining his friends, but merely to find where she was, and which room of the house it would be necessary for him to avoid.

Not a soul was to be seen in the dimly-lighted hall above; but all the doors stood open on account of the heat, and poured forth a mixture of lamp-light, smoke, and noise, while the floor creaked under the regular tread of the dancers, and the air trembled with the surly grumbling of a gigantic bass-viol. The dancing-hall lay at the extreme end of the corridor. Felix walked along it without looking into any of the other rooms until he reached the end door, where he found that, by standing behind the spectators, he could comfortably overlook all that was going on within. The bridegroom seemed to be a young forester, and his bride a burgher's daughter from the city. Consequently, the whole affair had a certain something about it which distinguished it favorably from ordinary country weddings, and the couples spun around through the spacious hall in quite an orderly fashion, and without the customary shouting, screaming, and romping, to the music of several stringed instruments, a solitary clarionet, and the occasional sound of a woodman's horn.

The first couple that Felix made out through the blue mist of tobacco-smoke was Rosenbusch with his Nanny. And, to his surprise, he saw Elfinger and his sweetheart waltzing gracefully close behind them; and the future bride of heaven seemed to abandon herself without much resistance to this worldly pleasure.

And now even the young countess herself appeared amid this mixed company, whirled by the young baron, her betrothed, far more rapidly than would have been good ton at a court ball. Her brother, the count, stood in a retired corner, apparently paying his court to Aunt Babette, who would not let herself be seduced into dancing again for any price in the world. In the adjoining room, which he could only half overlook, he perceived his friend Kohle, absorbed in an earnest conversation with the countess.

No trace of Irene anywhere! Could she have hidden from him? It was hardly possible that she could be in the other rooms, where the more elderly relatives of the bridal couple sat, eating and talking. And yet he must know whither she had gone, in order to spare her another painful meeting.

A waiting-maid entering through one of the open doors just at this moment, he determined to ask her about the Fräulein. But when he called to the tidy-looking girl, and she turned her head toward him, a half-joyful, half-embarrassed cry of surprise escaped them both. A little more and the girl would have let the mugs fall from her hands. Trembling and blushing she put down her load on a chair, and covered her face with her hands.

"What a queer place to meet you in, Zenz!" said Felix, going up to her kindly and holding out his hand. "How long have you been here? But you don't know me any longer!--or won't you give me your hand because you are angry with me?"

The girl stood motionless, leaning against the wall and deeply flushed, her hands outstretched, with the fingers wide-spread as if in supplication. She was dressed much more daintily than the waiter-girls down-stairs; her thick red hair, hanging in two heavy braids down her back, was wound around with a little string of corals, and her arms were bare to the elbow. Her charming figure showed to advantage in its short dress and tight-fitting bodice, and a little rose in her bosom set off the whiteness of her neckerchief and of her little coquettish waitress's apron. It was no wonder she found suitors enough out here in the country, and could play the prude toward the young boatman.

"Well, Zenz," Felix began again, for she still remained silent, "is it all over with our old friendship? You ran away from me once so treacherously, you naughty child--I searched every corner for you--but I bear you no malice on that score. Look here, perhaps you can tell me what has become of the young Fräulein?--the tall one with the water-proof? She is not with the others."

"I know the one you mean well enough," the girl answered, suddenly growing quite unembarrassed, for he behaved so coolly and seemed to have forgotten all the past. "You mean the handsome one who has something distinguished about her, more than all the rest. She couldn't stand it long in the hot rooms, but had a chamber given her up-stairs, so as to be all alone, for she had such a terrible headache, she said. Do you know her? But of course you do; you came with the party. Why, I shouldn't wonder if she were your--"

She broke off and peered in his face, with a sly look. Something of her old frivolity flickered up in it; but then she scornfully curled her lips.

"For all I care!" she said, shrugging her shoulders. "What difference does it make to me who your sweetheart is? Go up the stairs there and knock at No. 17. You will find what you are looking for."

"Zenz," he answered, with a troubled look, "you are very much mistaken if you think--But tell me, first of all, how you have been, and whether you like the life out here better than in the city, and whether I can help you in any way?"

He felt the necessity of showing his friendliness in some way or other to this good creature, whose devotion he had so coldly repulsed, that he might efface the painful remembrance from her mind. She seemed to feel this, and to be grateful for it. A soft blush--no longer of embarrassment, but of joy--mounted to her cheeks.

"How do I like it here?" she said, laughing. "Oh, pretty well so far. The people of the house treat me very well, and if I do my duty, what do I care for any one else? Only it's just a little dull and lonely here."

"I imagine there is no lack of people, Zenz, who would be glad to help you while away the time if you would only let them."

She did not answer at once, but listened in the direction of the stairs, where some one had just crept up and had stopped half-way as if to listen. There was a pause in the music, and any one standing on the dark stairway could not have helped hearing every word that was spoken on the landing above. The girl's face assumed a slighting, contemptuous expression. She seemed to know who was standing there on the watch, and purposely raised her voice so as to give the listener the full benefit of what she said.

"Have you, too, heard that gossip?" she said. "Well, if any one ever says to you again that Zenz has got a lover here, give him my best regards and tell him he is a mean liar. I know very well that the waiter-girl in Leoni says all sorts of bad things about me because Hiesl, the fisherman, who used to keep company with her, tries to pay court to me. But, though I am only a poor girl, I am a hundred times too good for such a wild fellow as he is, going about on every holiday picking quarrels, and spending all his money on drinking and bowling. Just think of it, that little Spanish knife I took from your table that time by mistake--or rather not by mistake--I really believe, may God forgive me, I would have liked best to kill myself, I felt so wild and unhappy that night!--well, I have carried it about with me ever since; I used to wear it stuck in my bodice instead of the spoon which, as a waiter-girl, I ought to have carried, and it's not a week ago that I told Hiesl my opinion of him once for all, and he grew so furious that he snatched the knife away from me, and cried out 'to remember him if anything happened,' or something of that kind. But I laughed, and said unless he gave it back to me something would happen, for I would complain of him to the police. He my lover! Well, I should be a fool! Besides, I don't want any lover at all; it always ends in the girl's being deceived; and the one she can get she doesn't like, and the one she likes she can't get. And now let me go, Herr Baron, the ladies and gentlemen inside are waiting, and you must go and pay your court to the Fräulein. Why should you waste your time out here with a waitress?"

She made a movement as if to take up her mugs again, but without hurrying herself particularly.

Just at this moment the music struck up again, playing a cheerful but not very lively waltz, apparently with the purpose of inviting the more elderly guests to join the dance.

"Zenz," said Felix, looking her straight in the face, "I don't care anything about the Fräuleins inside there; and, besides, I don't feel in a mood for love-making. As soon as the storm is over, I am going off without taking leave. If any one asks after me, you need only say that I wanted to be in Starnberg in time to catch the last train. But first I want to know whether I can't do you a favor of any kind, or get something for you in the city, or whether you have any wish that a good friend could fulfill for you? Speak out, Zenz! I am so unhappy myself that I would like, at least, to give a little bit of happiness to some one else."

She looked searchingly in his face, as if to see whether he was in earnest. She could not understand why he should not be happy.

"Do you know," said she, at last, "if what you said was not meant as a joke, I have a wish, and there is nothing so very terrible about it either--I would like to dance with you, just once."

"To dance with me?"

"Of course I know well enough what is proper, and that a waiter-girl shouldn't mix among the wedding-guests unless it happens to be a peasant's wedding. But to be always hearing this beautiful music, that makes you tingle down to the tips of your toes, and yet never to be allowed to swing round with the rest, is very hard. I only mean that it is almost the same out here in the entry as in the hall--you can hear every note and the floor is smooth and clean. Will you?"

He still hesitated. He certainly felt in no mood for dancing. But when she suddenly put out her hand with a quick movement to seize her mugs, as if she interpreted his hesitation to mean that, after all, he felt himself too good to be her partner, he could not find it in his heart to let her go away from him a second time feeling mortified and insulted.

"You are right, child," he said. "Let us dance. A man needn't be particularly merry to have dancing feet. Come! But you must show me how they do it here in the country."

He put his arm round her slight and yielding figure, and she clung to it with evident pleasure. "It goes splendidly," she whispered, after the first round. "I feel as if I were being lifted up into heaven. Do you remember how you put me on your horse, that time? Good Heavens! how long ago that seems, and yet it's only a few weeks!"

He did not answer, but went on dancing, rather gravely and seriously; for it was no easy task to move easily up and down through the long, narrow entry. And all the while he felt that his partner clung to him more and more tenderly, while he himself remained perfectly cool; and it was only when it seemed to him that they had had enough, and he had released the girl from his arms again, in front of the chair on which her beer-mugs stood, that he stroked her round face caressingly and said: "Was that right, little one?"

She trembled slightly, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the stairs which led to the upper story. Suddenly she pushed him from her, whispered "Thank you," and, quickly seizing her mugs, ran past him and down the stairs.

He looked after her in surprise. What was it that had transformed this girl so suddenly? A sudden suspicion arose within him. He rushed toward the stairs, and peered up into the darkness. There was no longer anything to be seen. But he heard a light footstep up above creeping softly across the entry, and immediately afterward the latch of a door was heard to fall, and a key was turned in the lock.

A cold shiver passed over him, as the thought suddenly flashed across him that this must have been she. She had started to go and join the company, and had turned back when half-way down the stairs, in order not to disturb his dance with a waiting-maid--!

The discovery was so crushing that he remained standing motionless in the middle of the corridor, and heard and saw nothing of what was going on around him. He was finally roused from his stupor by one of the wedding-guests, who, in stumbling past, struck against him with no little force. He slowly felt his way down-stairs, passed across the lower hall, and stepped out into the open air in a truly pitiable state of mind.

The storm had passed, but the air still trembled from the shock, and now and then a drop fell from the roof, or the distant reflection of the fading lightning flashed across the clear sky. The mountains stood out on the horizon like light, sharply-defined clouds, and the reflection of the stars danced up and down upon the waves, which seemed to keep up the turmoil longer than anything else, and still surged darkly on the shore.

Felix went down to the bank, and walked to the extreme end of the landing-pier. In the commotion of his thoughts, he found it impossible to decide as to the course he should pursue. Should he at once seek an interview with her, and explain how it had all come about--this inconceivable, unheard-of, unpardonable scene? That after such a painful meeting he had not scorned to flirt with a waiter-girl; that he intended anything rather than to play a defiant and indifferent rôle; that only a series of most unfortunate circumstances--but how could he explain to her what it was that had induced him to behave so tenderly toward the poor creature? And would she listen to him at all, for that matter? After all, it seemed as if it would be better for him to write. But even that would only help him out of the last phase of this serio-comic dilemma. What was to guard him from a repetition of similar scenes, if he continued to remain anywhere near her?

He stood for a long time leaning over the railing of the bridge, staring down into the restless, surging waves, lost in wild thoughts, while through the open window the clarionet squeaked and the bass-viol growled, as though there were none but happy people in all the world.

At last, making a violent effort, he roused himself. He was determined to avoid meeting a human face at any price, and to make his way to Starnberg on foot.

But, as he turned round, he saw behind him, planted in the middle of the narrow way, a dark figure, which he immediately recognized as that of Hiesl, the boatman. In his face, which he could plainly distinguish in spite of the darkness, he could read the bitterest enmity. Besides, the fellow had spread his legs, and thrust out his elbows, as if to obstruct the way, and now stood grinning impudently in his face.

"Fine weather, Herr Graf," he cried, hoarsely and thickly. "Quite fine again for taking a walk, alone or with a single companion. I suppose you won't be left alone long--ha, ha, ha! She'll probably get away from the wedding soon, so as to dance a little while with the Herr Graf, all alone by yourselves--ha, ha, ha!"

"Get out of the way, fellow!" cried Felix, stepping close up to him. "If you are seeking a quarrel, you will find you have hit on the wrong man."

"The wrong man?" blurted out the peasant, who coolly remained standing where he was, and merely folded his arms across his breast. "That would be a joke; if I couldn't see who the right man is, two feet off. You are a count, and I am only a stupid country lout--isn't that the way? And Zenz dances with you, and hangs on your neck, and turns her back on me. So now, you see, I know all about it; I'm sober, too, and understand my business as well as the next man. If the Herr Count would perhaps like to row out upon the lake with the girl, Hiesl would consider it an honor to provide a boat for his high-mightiness's pleasure; and if the stupid country lout has to hold the light for the Herr Count--"

"Out of my way, you fool!" cried Felix, now angry in his turn at the jealous fellow's crazy attack. "If you touch me with a finger, I'll break every bone in your body. I don't understand a word of what you have been raving about. The waiter-girl isn't my sweetheart, and if it will give you any satisfaction, you can wait and see whether she will steal out here to meet me. If you had your five senses about you, and hadn't left your eyes behind in your beer-mug, you would see that I am not your Herr Count. So get on! I'm in no humor to stand any more nonsense!"

The peasant made no answer, nor did he laugh any more; but stared straight in Felix's face, and stood like a post. And now when Felix stepped forward to pass by, he suddenly felt himself seized around the waist and violently pushed back. The blood rushed madly to his forehead. "You blackguard!" he cried, "if you will have it, you shall."

He struck his adversary in the chest with such force that for a moment the sturdy fellow's arms relaxed their hold. But the next instant he felt himself grasped again and forced back to the edge of the wharf, where the posts projected out of the water as high as a man's head, and the water itself was deep enough to give plenty of room for the steamer's keel.

"You or I," gasped the furious peasant. "You or I! If she won't have me, she sha'n't have you either, you damned city puppy!" He struggled with renewed fury to push his enemy over the railing. But Felix was on his guard. By a quick push he gained the shore side again, and forced his opponent back almost to the last plank. For a moment the battle paused. The next instant Felix felt a violent stab; a sharp-pointed instrument had been thrust into him under the armpit between his breast and shoulder, so that his left arm dropped paralyzed by his side.

He felt at once that he was seriously wounded, and a terrible fury seized upon him. "Murderer!" he cried; "you cowardly ruffian, you shall pay for this!"

Exerting all his strength, he threw the fellow to the ground, seized his throat so firmly with his right hand that he could do nothing but gasp, and would have strangled him had not the man, who had suddenly become sober, and who was lying on the very edge of the wharf, been crafty enough to draw the supple Spanish blade, with all his force, across the hand that was choking him. The moment the bloody hand released his throat, he slid over the edge of the wharf and immediately vanished in the lake below.

The dull, splashing noise of the fall suddenly brought the victor to his senses. But he felt absolutely indifferent about the fellow's rising again and gaining the shore. He had no other feeling than one of disgust at this wild struggle in such a wretched cause. And now, when he found himself alone on the high wharf, a cold shudder passed over him, as if he had just shaken off a mad dog and hurled him into the water. He peered down into the lake and then tried to laugh; but shuddered anew at his own voice, that sounded so strange to him. Then, too, the squeaking, idiotic clarionet and the comfortably grunting bass-viol kept sounding in his ears;--what a world, in which all this could be huddled so close together! Then, leaning on the railing, over which the blood from his hand was trickling, he raised himself up, and was conscious now, for the first time, of a piercing pain in his shoulder. But his legs still bore him. Away, only away! was all he thought. The resolution he had previously formed, before the murderous fellow came in his way, rose clearly before his mind again, to hasten to Starnberg, from there back to the city, from the city to the ends of the earth. Only away! without looking back--no matter what was left behind him!

He took a few steps away from the wharf, in the direction of the road. But he had not gone far when he lost consciousness, his knees gave way beneath him, and he fell senseless on the rain-soaked earth.

A moment after the house-door was opened, and Schnetz stepped out into the open air, followed by Kohle, bearing a large umbrella. The old countess had begged them to go out and see whether the return trip might now be taken without danger. They themselves were anxious to escape as soon as possible from the stifling, sultry tumult of the wedding festival; while the others, who had caught the dancing fever, did not appear to notice how the hours had slipped away.

Schnetz cast but a single glance at the heavens, and then said, with the confidence of an old soldier who has reconnoitred a hostile region: "It's all right. We may give the signal for breaking camp. But first we must take a look at the boats. What's become of the baron? Did you notice, Kohle, that during the whole trip he has been in a mood like that of a cat in a thunder-storm, for all he pretended to be so quiet? Nom d'un nom! I wish--"

The word died on his lips. For just at that moment he caught sight of him of whom he spoke, lying lifeless on the damp ground. He bent over him in horror, and called him by his name. When no sound came in answer, and only the pool of blood in which he lay gave sign of what had happened, he quickly recovered his presence of mind and coolly weighed the situation.

"There's no medical assistance to be had in this hole," he said; "we must row him over to Fat Rossel's villa, and send at once for the Starnberg doctor, who fortunately is said to be a skillful man. What are you sniveling in that wretched fashion for, Kohle? He isn't going to die on the spot. In Africa I've seen a man pull through far worse cases than this. Pluck up your spirits, man, and before all things don't make a noise. Not a soul must know of this until we are safely in our boat. We must take Rossel's boat for us three alone, so that he can lie at full length; how the others will get home is their own lookout. The young gentlemen will undoubtedly know how to help themselves out of the scrape."

He tore a leaf from his note-book, and wrote a few words upon it. "So, give that to Red Zenz, the waiter-girl. She appears to me to be a plucky sort of person who doesn't lose her head easily. She is not to give the note to the young baroness, who is the only person here to whom I owe an explanation, until we have embarked. Make haste, Kohle, make haste. Meantime I'll be making a bed in the boat."

In five minutes Philip Emanuel came running back again, with Zenz following close at his heels. She did not speak a word, for Kohle had enjoined the strictest silence upon her, but her face was as white as chalk; and when she saw the wounded man she fell on her knees beside him and groaned aloud.

"Be quiet," commanded the lieutenant; "this is no time for whimpering. Have you got a piece of linen, girl? We must make a bandage."

Still remaining on her knees, she tore off her white apron and the kerchief round her neck. It was only when Schnetz had hastily bound up the shoulder and the wound in the hand, and, with Kohle's aid, had carefully borne the unconscious form into the boat, that she raised herself from the ground and followed the men to the shore.

"I am going with you," she said softly, but very decidedly. "I must go with you. I gave the note to the other waiter-girl; she will see that it is delivered. For Christ's sake, let me go with you! Who else is there to take care of him?"

"Nonsense!" growled Schnetz; "he won't need any care on the way over, and on the other side there is help enough. What are you thinking of, girl? You can't run away from service in this free-and-easy way."

"Who is to hinder me?" she said, laughing defiantly in the midst of all her anxiety and wretchedness. "I belong to no one. I tell you I will go with you, if it were only to hold his head on my lap on the way, so that he would lie softer. If you won't take me with you--there's an old dug-out over there--I'll row after you as true as my name is Zenz. I must hear what the doctor says, and whether he will live."

"Then come along, in the devil's name, you witch; but no shrieking and bawling. Get into the boat, Kohle; so, lift him carefully now--and you, girl, take a seat in the middle. It's true, it won't do any harm if he has something softer under his head than this bundle of sticks."

A few minutes more and the slender boat pushed off from the shore. Schnetz rowed and Kohle sat at the tiller again; but, instead of the merry company that had occupied these same seats but a few hours before, amusing themselves with singing and flute-playing, there now lay on the bottom of the boat a white, silent passenger, with closed eyes; and at his head crouched a pale girl, who, from time to time, silently dried with her long red locks the heavy drops of blood which oozed out from under the bandages. Her head was sunk upon her breast. The others must not see how the big tear-drops coursed steadily down her cheeks.

CHAPTER VIII.

Up-stairs, in a bare, meanly-furnished room of the tavern, lay Irene.

The dim beams of the setting sun shone in through the little window-panes, which were still dripping from the rain, but did not penetrate to the sofa where the poor girl cowered in an agony of grief, covering her face with her hands and vainly trying to close her ears so tightly with the folds of her hood that she should not hear the music of the waltz below. The walls and floors of the lightly-built upper story groaned under the regular step of the dance. Never in all her life, she thought, had she been more wretched and miserable, not even in those gloomy days before she resolved to write Felix a letter of farewell. Then there was still a certain greatness, dignity, and harmony left both within and about her; now her condition was painful and revolting to a degree that seemed almost pitiably ridiculous.

She, lying up here in torture; and he down below in the best of spirits, whirling about with a waiter-girl in his arms, to the music of a peasant's orchestra--not among the other wedding-guests even, but apart, secretly, in the way one only dances when one is very much in the mood for it, or very much in love! She did not even have the consolation of thinking he had done this merely out of defiance to her, out of secret lovesickness and grief. He could not possibly have had a suspicion that she would come down and surprise him at his dance; that she would see how tightly the girl clung to him, and how reluctantly she finally released herself from his arms.

She had flown up-stairs as if pursued by a ghost, had pushed the bolt to behind her with trembling hands, and had thrown herself on the hard little sofa, and shut her eyes and bowed her head as if now the death blow might fall at any moment. And down below, the jovial bassviol hummed and buzzed, and the clarionet abandoned itself to the most extravagant passages.

For the moment she hated this man, whom heretofore, through all their separation, she had mourned over as one does over a dead friend, who, though lost, is still dear forever. When she thought that the hand which had once caressed her had stroked the chin of this coarse red-haired girl, a pang of bitter aversion shot through her heart, as if she felt herself humiliated and dishonored by the mere association. She shed no tears, but only because her pride rose up in all its strength against such a proceeding. And yet she had to bite into the silk lining of her hood with her little teeth in order to suppress her sobbing and restrain her weeping.

She felt that she must take some step to put an end to this unbearable state of things; that she must start the very next morning on the Italian journey which had been so unfortunately postponed. But to-day, now, when before all else she must avoid meeting him again, she must escape from this mad-house where she stood in positive danger of going crazy herself.

Just then a knock was heard at the door. She sprang to her feet in alarm. If it should be he? if he had come, perhaps, to justify himself to her; to excuse his outrageous behavior?

She was incapable of uttering a sound; and, even after the knock had been repeated a second time, she was unable to ask who was there. It was only when she heard the voice of the waiter-girl, who called through the door that she had a message to deliver to the Fräulein, that she found strength to drag herself with trembling knees to the door, and open it. She took a note from the girl's hand, shook her head quickly in reply to the question whether she wanted a light, and bolted the door in the face of the hastily-dismissed messenger, who would have been glad of a chance to talk a little.

There was light enough at the window for her to decipher the martial handwriting of the lieutenant.

"My friend has suddenly been taken very ill. I must transport him to Rossel's villa without delay. Please to excuse my desertion to the other ladies. Commending myself to the indulgence of my noble young mistress, I remain, in the most devoted haste,

"Schnetz."

"My friend"--she knew that no other could be meant than Felix; and yet this news, which, at any other time, would have given her a deadly shock, came to her now like a release from the bitterest torture. Would she not bear anything rather than know that he was happy after the wrong he had done her? Might not the outrageous scene she had just witnessed be explained as coming from a freak of fever--from a last flaring-up of his spirits before the final breaking-down? Then, in spite of all, he was still worthy of her secret thoughts--ay, she even owed him some apology, and could grieve for him, and show him that sympathy which we owe to all who are in suffering.

A heavy weight fell from her heart. She read the note a second time. "Rossel's villa?"--that lay only half an hour's walk from theirs. She might get news before the evening was over. Schnetz would very likely come himself and tell her.

But, while she was absorbed in such thoughts, she let her eyes sweep across the lake, and saw the boat, rowed by Schnetz and Kohle, just pushing off from the shore. The twilight was still bright enough to enable her to distinctly recognize the girl in the waitress's dress, who sat on the low seat and held the youth's head in her lap. If there had still been any doubt in the watcher's mind, it would have been put at rest by the sight of the red braids, with which the little Samaritan appeared to be caressing the insensible man.

With quick strokes of the oars the boat shot out on the broad surface of the lake. A few minutes, and the figures in it had faded into shadows. Soon, only a faint line on the lake's polished mirror indicated the course the silent craft had taken.

A quarter of an hour after, Irene entered the room next to the dancing-hall, where the old countess was impatiently awaiting the return of her cavalier, who had only left her to make preparations for the homeward voyage. She was frightened by the Fräulein's colorless face, and overwhelmed her with anxious inquiries. Irene handed her the lieutenant's note, in lieu of any other answer. The lively excitement into which this very unfortunate incident threw the good lady diverted her thoughts completely from Irene's condition. The young people, too, who were hastily called away from their dancing, were far too much occupied with one another, and with the question what was to be done, to find anything odd in Irene's mute and stony manner. Besides, she had already complained of a headache. The countess scolded at Schnetz for having taken no thought of her. To whom could they intrust the guidance of the vessel now? She flatly refused Elfinger's and Rosenbusch's willingly-offered aid, nor would she listen to such a thing as their looking about for a boatman in the house, but declared that now no price would induce her to trust herself upon the water again. Instances had been known where the wind had suddenly sprung up and driven back a thunder-storm that had once passed over!

In the mean while, the young count had been in consultation with the landlord, and now came to report that a carriage could be ready immediately, which would easily carry them to Starnberg inside of an hour. The other party might then make use of their boat, unless they should prefer to wait until the vehicle came back. But as the sky was clear, and the night warm and lovely, both the sisters and Aunt Babette thought it would be more advisable to make the voyage across than to wait several hours more in the close house.

So they took leave of the wedding-guests with more or less ceremony, and made preparations for starting. The old countess, who, for several hours past, had shown herself extremely gracious as long as Schnetz was present to act as go-between, and the unknown young baron had lent a certain respectability to his burgher friends, now suddenly seemed to become conscious again of the gulf between her and the savers of her life--particularly in the case of the girls, whom she did not honor with another word. She gave Rosenbusch to understand, in pretty plain language, that she was very angry with Schnetz, who had quite forgotten all "égards" toward her, and had gone off without even coming to take leave in person. The battle-painter, who found himself placed in a rather embarrassing situation, was just on the point of making some excuse for his absent friend, when suddenly the words stuck in his throat. They had left the house in order to wait outside until the carriage should be ready. There, on the white gravel close to the bank, Rosenbusch saw a dark spot, from which a broad trail of drops ran down as far as the landing-place. "Good God!" he cried. "What is this? Blood? Freshly-shed blood? Countess, if this blood should really have come from our baron, our friend Schnetz would undoubtedly be justified, even by the severest court of honor, for having failed in the laws of courtesy. I beseech you, don't let the others learn anything of this--young ladies are so devilish timid and frightened at the sight of blood--"