How could he know her in that disfiguring disguise? He gave decided proof of his ignorance, and turned again to the lady in the red mantle.

Laura stepped back, and colored up to her temples under the mask. It was in anger with herself, for she was the unfortunate one who had brought him into this danger: and moreover she had come in such a disguise that he could not recognize her.

She returned to her mother, who had at last been fortunate enough to find a companion in Laura's G.o.dmother, and had got into the corner of the room in order to exchange observations on the bodily development of the baptized little Fritz. Laura placed herself next her mother, and looked at the dancing masks with indifference. Suddenly she sprang up, for Fritz Hahn was dancing with the lady in the red mantle. Was it possible? He had long abjured dancing. More than once he had ridiculed Laura for her pleasure in it; even she herself had at times, when sitting before her private journal, thought how childish this monotonous whirling movement was, and how incompatible with a n.o.bler conception of life;--now he was turning himself round like a top.

"What do I see?" cried her mother; "is not that ----? and the red one is ----"

"It is immaterial with whom he dances," interrupted Laura, in order to avoid hearing the hated confirmation of it. But she knew Fritz Hahn, and she was aware there was some signification in this waltz. Juliet pleased him much, otherwise he would never have done it; he had never shown her this mark of distinction. The old comedian of the city theatre approached them as Pantaloon; he had at last found out the two influential ladies; he tripped up to them, made grotesque obeisances, and began to amuse her mamma with his gossip. One of his first remarks was, "It is said that young Hahn will go upon the stage; he is studying his _role_ as lover with our prima-donna."

Laura turned with annoyance from the flat remark. Her last hope was the time of unmasking; she impatiently awaited the moment. At last there was a pause, and the masks were removed. She took her mother's arm to go through the room to greet their acquaintances. It seemed a long time before she got into the neighborhood of Fritz Hahn, and not once did he look at her. Laura made a movement with her hand to touch him gently; but she pressed her fingers firmly, and pa.s.sed by fixing her eyes upon him. Now at last he recognized her, as he ought to have done long before. She saw the look of pleasure in his countenance, and her heart became lighter. She stopped while he exchanged some civil sentences with her mother, and she expected that he would acknowledge that she had already greeted him, but he did not mention a word of the occurrence. Had so many written in his hand that he could not bear in mind one poor little bat? When he turned to her he only praised the ball music. This was all the notice he thought her worthy of. His conversation with Juliet had been the free interchange of mind, but to her he only addressed a few indifferent sentences. Her countenance a.s.sumed the gloomy Hummel look, as she answered, "You used to have little sympathy for the jingling instrument to which the puppets dance."

The Doctor looked embarra.s.sed, but laughed, and asked her for the next dance. This was bad tact. Laura answered bitterly, "When the grey bat was so bold as to flutter about Romeo, he had no dance free for her; now her eyes are blinded by the bright light." She bowed her head like a queen, took her mother's arm, and left him behind.

What followed was still more aggravating. The Doctor danced once more with the lady in the mantle. Laura observed how fascinatingly she smiled on him, and he danced with no one else. Of her he took no further notice, and she was glad when soon after Mr. Hummel came up to them and said: "It was difficult to find you. When I inquired of the people for the two ugliest disguises, you were pointed out to me. I shall be glad if to-morrow morning you awake without headache. We have had enough of pleasure today."

Laura was glad when the carriage arrived at home; she rushed up to her room, hastily took her book out of the drawer, and wrote rapidly:

"Cursed be my deed and cursed all sinful art; My own true happiness is now at stake A troup of enemies surrounds my heart, Which bleeding from so deadly wounds will break."

she wiped away the tears which rolled upon her paper.

The bright light of the following morning exercised its tranquilizing influence on her fluttering thoughts. Over there Fritz Hahn was still lying in his bed. The good youth had tired himself yesterday. Many drops of water might still flow into the sea before friend Fritz would determine to unite his fate with an actress of tragedy. She brought out her supply of old ballads and selected one; it was a very jolly one: the May-Bug's Marriage--in which the may-bug on the hedge asks in marriage the young maiden fly. Many little birds occupy themselves seriously about the wedding, but at last it is put an end to by some disreputable conduct on the part of the bridegroom.

"Good," said Laura; "my May-Bug Fritz, before you marry the frivolous fly Juliet, other birds shall have their say about it."

She folded up the song, and added to it a little note: "You guess wrongly. The person who sends this to you never was Juliet." As she closed the letter she said to herself, with more composure: "If he does not now perceive that he was mistaken, one cannot think much of his judgment."

The Doctor was sitting a little stupefied over his books, when his eye fell upon the above letter. He cast a look upon the Marriage of the May-Bug; he had never yet come across an old copy of it, and in rapidly glancing over it he saw that many verses were quite different from our current text. Then he took the note, and endeavored to interpret the oracle. Now it was clear that the actress was the sender, for who else could know that he had accosted her as Juliet, and that they had conversed long about this _role_. But what could the words mean, "You guess wrongly?" But even on this point his eyes were blinded; he had maintained that the representation of pa.s.sion could only be to a certain extent attained by an actor, if he had never in his life experienced a similar feeling. This the actress denied, and they had endeavored to come to an agreement about it; her words, therefore, clearly meant that she had impersonated Juliet without ever having previously felt a great pa.s.sion. This was a confession that showed great confidence--nay, perhaps still more. The Doctor sat long looking at the note; but he now felt pretty sure who his correspondent was, and the discovery did not give him pleasure. For when he had reasoned the matter out upon rational grounds, it had always been Laura's eyes that beamed upon him from the paper, though undoubtedly quite another look from that which she had favored him with yesterday. He laid the May-Bug Marriage with the other songs, and again asked himself whether he ought to continue the correspondence. At last he sealed in answer one of the worthless trifles of his portfolio, and did not write anything in addition.

Some days after, when the Professor and Ilse were walking through the streets, they pa.s.sed by the dwelling of the actress; both saw their friend standing at the window of the heroine, and he nodded to them from within.

"How has he made this acquaintance?" asked the Professor; "is not the young lady considered very fast?"

"I fear so," answered Ilse, troubled.

Now Mrs. Knips (who dwelt opposite to the actress) came running in to Madame Hummel one day with the linen still damp, and told her that on the previous evening a great basket of champagne had been taken to the actress's house, and that in the night the loud singing of a dissolute company had been heard over the whole street, and that young Doctor Hahn had been among them!

On Sunday the comedian had been invited to dinner at Mr. Hummel's, and one of his first anecdotes was concerning a jovial party which had taken place at the actress's. With the malice which is often to be found in fellow-artists towards each other, he added, "She has found a new admirer, the son of your neighbor over the way. Well! the father's money will at least come to the support of art." Mr. Hummel opened his eyes and shook his head, but only said, "So Fritz Hahn too has gone among the actors and become dissipated: he is the last one that I should have suspected of this."

Mrs. Hummel endeavored to bring to mind her recollections of the ball, and found in them a sorrowful confirmation of this, but Laura, who had been sitting very pale and silent, broke forth vehemently to the actor:

"I will not suffer you to speak of the Doctor in such a tone at our table. We are well enough acquainted with him to know that he is in conduct and principles a n.o.ble man. He is master of his own actions, and if he likes the lady and visits her at times, a third person has no right to say anything in the matter whatever. It is a malicious calumny to say that he goes there with any dishonorable intentions, and spends money that does not belong to him."

The comedian, through fright, got a crumb of bread in his wind-pipe, and burst out in the most violent fit of coughing that had ever seized him, but the mother, in excuse of their pleasant visitor, replied:

"You have sometimes felt yourself, that the conduct of the Doctor was not quite the thing."

"If I have said anything of the kind in foolish ill temper," cried Laura, "it was an injustice, and I am very sorry for it; I have only the excuse that I never meant it ill-naturedly. But from others I will hear no slanderous talk about our neighbor." She rose from table and left the room. The actor vindicated himself to the mother, but Mr.

Hummel grasped his wine-gla.s.s and, peering after his daughter, said:

"On a gloomy day she is scarcely to be distinguished from me."

The Doctor was little troubled about his own misdeeds. He had paid a visit to his partner after the ball, the occasion on which he had been seen at the window. One of his school friends, now second tenor at the theatre, had come and arranged with the actress to have a little picnic on her approaching birthday, and Fritz had been invited to take part in it. It was a merry gathering, and the Doctor had found much entertainment among the light-winged birds of the stage, and had rejoiced with the benevolence of a wise man at the good tact which was visible amidst the easy style of their intercourse. There had also been much intelligent conversation in the course of the evening, and he went home with the impression that even for a person like himself it was good to be for once a.s.sociated with these lively artists. He had endeavored that same evening, by a stratagem, to ascertain his unknown correspondent. When they were singing songs, and with lively grace reciting comic verses, he had produced the May-bug song and had begun to sing it:

"The May-bug sat on the hedge, brum, brum; The fly sat beneath him, hum, hum hum."

Some had joined in it; the lady in the mantle did not know the song, however, but only a similar one from an old _role_; and when the ba.s.s took up the melody from the Doctor, and in the following verses portrayed each of the birds as they entered by gestures and comic changes of the melody, the hostess laughed, and without any embarra.s.sment undertook to learn the song, so that the Doctor again became very doubtful, and on returning home remained standing on the threshold and looked significantly at the house of Mr. Hummel. If any one had accurately investigated why, after this May-bug song, the Doctor became noisy and gay like the others, he would perhaps have discovered that the unembarra.s.sed air of the actress had lifted a load from his heart.

But this helped him little with respect to the "brum" and "hum" of the neighbors. All Park Street had latterly accorded to their Fritz Hahn the highest respect; his picture had been placed among the serious men of learning in their alb.u.ms, whom they daily contemplated and spoke of.

Now strange features had appeared in the well-known face, and the street could not bear that one of their children should appear otherwise than he had been wont to do. Therefore there was much whispering and shaking of heads, and this came to the knowledge of Mr.

and Mrs. Hahn, and, finally, to the Doctor. He laughed, but he did not feel quite at ease about it.

"Tannhauser, n.o.ble knight and man, In Venus' wiles thou liest ensnared, While I, a wicked Pope Urban, To cause you shame and sorrow dared."

Thus did Laura lament in her room, but she concealed her heavy sorrow, and did not speak a word concerning the danger of the Doctor, even to Ilse; and when the latter once slightly alluded to the new intimacy of their friend, Laura broke the thread of her embroidery, and said, while the blood rushed to her heart:

"Why should not the Doctor visit there? He is a young man for whom it is good to see different people; he stays too much in his room and with his parents. If I had been a man like him, I should long ago have tied up my bundle and gone out into the world, for our narrow field of active life weakens the energies and dwarfs the mind."

At the tea-table one of the company present turned the conversation on the actress, and shrugged his shoulders over her free manners. Laura felt what must be the Doctor's embarra.s.sment; there sat poor Fritz, obliged to listen to the derogatory criticisms--his intimate acquaintances were silent, and looked significantly at him; his position was terrible, for every fool made use of the lady's unprotected position to show himself a Cato.

"I wonder," she said, "that gentlemen should so severely criticise the little freaks of an actress. A lady of that profession should be treated with great consideration, for she is deprived of all the protection and all the pleasure which we have in our families. I am convinced that she is a worthy and sensitive girl."

The Doctor looked thankfully at her and confirmed her opinion. He did not observe it, but it had happened as in his fairy-tale; Laura had bent down to his feet and picked up the pocket-handkerchief.

But she had still more to bear. The month of March began his theatrical pranks in the world; first from his grey clouds he had cast a veil of snow over the landscape; icicles hung from the roofs and white crystals from the trees, and the wild storm howled all around. Suddenly all was transformed. A mild south wind blew, the buds of the trees swelled, and the fresh green made its appearance in the meadow; the children ran about in the woods and carried home large bunches of spring flowers, and people, rejoicing in the change, pa.s.sed in unceasing pilgrimage through the Park Street out into the sunshine.

Even Mr. Hummel felt the presage of spring. He gave expression to this annually by mixing the colors for his boat, and taking a pleasure walk on a well-chosen afternoon with his wife and daughter to a distant coffee-garden. This festive journey was but an indifferent pleasure for Laura, for Mr. Hummel walked with st.u.r.dy step in front of the ladies; he secretly rejoiced in the renewal of old nature, and only occasionally favored his ladies with a remark over his shoulder when he was annoyed at a change in the vegetation. But Laura knew that her father thought much of this March pleasure, and this year, too, she went with her mother behind him to a solitary village, where Mr. Hummel smoked his pipe, fed the hens, scolded the waiter, and talked with the landlord about the crops and gave the sun an opportunity of rejoicing in the healthy appearance of his old friend, Mr. Hummel. Mr. Hummel, who was usually by no means averse to society, loved now to be alone with nature, and hated the place of resort of the citizens in the country, where the aroma of new cakes and fritters destroyed the perfume of nature.

When he entered the coffee-garden with his ladies, he saw with dissatisfaction that other guests were already there. He threw an indignant glance on the gay society which had taken possession of his usual place, and noticed among them the young actress, as well as other members of the theatre, and with them the son of his adversary. Then he turned to his daughter and said, blinking his eyes:

"To-day you will be well satisfied; here you have, besides the enjoyments of nature, those of art."

It was a terribly hard trial to which Laura's courage was subjected; but she raised her head proudly, and pa.s.sed with her parents to another corner of the garden. There she placed herself with her back to the strangers. Nevertheless, she learnt more of their proceedings than was good for her composure. She heard the sounds of laughter, and the merry hum of the May-bug party; the less she saw of them the more painful was the noise, and every sound was audible in the deep stillness, and her mother's ears and eyes also were intent on the other party. After a time the loud conversation of the artists ceased, and she heard her name spoken in low terms. Immediately afterwards the gravel crunched behind her, and she felt that the Doctor was behind her.

He approached the table, greeted the father silently, made some friendly remarks to the mother about the weather, and was just on the point of turning to Laura with a forced composure that did not escape her, when Mr. Hummel, who had till then silently borne the intrusion of the enemy, took his pipe from his mouth, and began, with gentle voice:

"Is what I hear of you possible, Doctor?--that you wish to change your mode of life?"

Laura plunged her parasol vehemently into the gravel.

"I know nothing of it," replied the Doctor, coolly.

"It is reported," continued Mr. Hummel, "that you intend to say farewell to your books and become a professional actor. If this should be the case, I beg of you to think kindly of my little business. I have every kind of artistic head-gear: for lovers fine beaver, with galoon for lackeys, and if ever you act the punchinello, a white felt hat. But you would rather be called clown, perhaps. That is now the fashionable _role_; buffoons are out of style; one shall address you as Sir Clown."

"I have no intention of going on the stage," replied the Doctor; "but if ever the idea should occur to me, I would not come to you for the artistic work of your manufactory, but for instruction in what you consider good manners. I should then at least know what, in my profession, was _not_ befitting men of breeding."

He bowed to the ladies, and went away.

"Always Humboldt," said Mr. Hummel, looking after him.