“To the devil with these damnable flowers!’ cried Severin.

  “Alexander went on with his story:

  “‘Don’t suppose I made her any valuable presents; I knew better. That wasn’t the sort of thing to go down in that house, I soon saw. What I did was to associate apparently unimportant civilities and attentions with myself, personally. I never appeared without bringing some pattern she had wanted, or a new song, or some book which she hadn’t seen, or something of the kind. If I didn’t call every forenoon for half an hour or so, I was missed. In short, why should I bother you with tiresome details? My relations with her passed into that pleasant phase of confidential intimacy which leads to love-avowal, and to marriage. But I wished to get rid of the very shadow of the last remaining cloud, and, therefore, in a pleasant hour I spoke, straight out, of my foregone conclusion that she either then liked somebody else, or had done so previously; and I mentioned all the circumstances which led me to this conclusion, speaking particularly of the young gentleman, the mention of whom had brought tears to her eyes.

  “‘“I must confess to you,” she said, “that longer intercourse with that gentleman — whom a mere chance brought to the house, as a perfect stranger might have been dangerous to my peace of mind, and, indeed, I did feel a strong regard for him growing in me; and that is why I am always so sorry, when I think of the terrible misfortune which parted us, that I can’t help crying.”

  “‘“The terrible misfortune which parted you?” I inquired.

  “‘“Yes,” she said; “I never knew any man whose conversation, and intellect, and whole character, had such a power over me, altogether. But I couldn’t deny, what my father always said, that he was continually in a most strangely excited condition. This I attributed to causes which we knew nothing about, perhaps some deep impression made upon his mind by something that had happened to him during the war, which he had been serving in; though my father thought drink was the cause of it. But I was right, as the event proved. One day he found me alone, and exhibited a state of mind, which I at first took for an outburst of the most passionate affection. But by-and-by, when he ran away, trembling in every limb as with a frost, and uttering unintelligible cries, I could only conclude it was insanity, and so it was, poor fellow! He had once happened to mention his address, and I remembered it. After we had seen nothing of him for some weeks, my father sent there to make inquiries. The landlady — or rather, the porter who waited on the lodgers — told our servant that he had gone mad some time before, and been taken to the asylum. I suppose it must have been lottery speculations which turned his head, for it seems he thought he was king of the Ambé.”’

  “‘Good gracious!’ cried Marzell, ‘that must have been Nettelmann. Ambé — Amboyna.’

  “‘It may have been some confusion,’ said Severin under his breath. ‘I seem to see daylight through it, but go on, please.’

  “Alexander looked at Severin with a sad smile, and then continued:

  “‘My mind was now at ease, and soon the young lady and I were engaged, and the wedding day fixed. I wanted to sell my house, for the ghostly noises were still heard in it now and then. But my father-in-law advised me not to do so, and so it came about that I told him the whole story. He is a jovial sort of man, full of vital energy; but he grew deeply thoughtful over this, and spoke about it in a way that I hadn’t expected.

  “‘“People used to have a pious simple faith,” he said. “We believed in another world, but we admitted the feebleness of our senses. Then came ‘enlightenment,’ and made everything so very clear and enlightened, that we can see nothing for excess of light, and go banging our noses against the first tree we come to in the wood. We insist, now-a-days, on grasping the other world with stretched-out arms of flesh and bone. Keep you the house, and leave the rest to me.”

  “‘I was astonished when he settled that the marriage should take place in the drawing-room of my house, and on the day of the Feast of the Invention of the Cross; and still more when he had everything arranged just as it had been on the celebrated day of my aunt’s marriage — that was to have been. Mistress Anne crept about, in whispered prayer, her face contracted with anxious alarm. The bride came in her wedding dress, the clergyman arrived nothing out of the common was to be heard or seen. But when the blessing was pronounced, a gentle sigh seemed to pass through the room; and the bride, and I myself, and every one present declared that at that instant we all felt an indescribable sense of happiness strike through us like an electric spark. Since that moment there never has been the slightest trace of anything haunting me, except to-day, when thinking vividly of the charming Pauline, did bring a haunting something into my married happiness.”

  “This Alexander said with an odd smile, and looking round him.

  “‘Oh! you donkey!’ said Marzell. ‘I hope she may not turn up here to-day. I really shouldn’t like to answer for the consequences.’

  “Meanwhile a good many pleasure-seekers had come into the grounds, and taken their places at various tables. But the one where the Aslings had been sitting on that memorable day two years ago was still unoccupied.

  “‘There’s a very distinct presentiment at work within me,’ said Severin. ‘I quite expect to see that place there occupied by — —’

  “He stopped, for as he spoke, behold! Geheime Rath Asling appeared, with his wife on his arm; Pauline came after them, looking the picture of happiness and beauty — in all other respects exactly the Pauline of two years back. Just as was the case then, she was looking back over her shoulder, as if expecting to see somebody. She caught sight of Alexander, who had risen from his chair.

  “‘Ah!’ she cried, running up to him joyfully. ‘Here you are already!’

  “He took her hand, and said to Marzell and Severin:

  “‘Dear old friends! this is my darling wife, Pauline!’”

  The Brethren were much pleased with Ottmar’s story.

  “You had special reasons for laying the scene of your story in Berlin,” said Theodore, “and giving the names of streets, squares, etc. But I think it is a good thing, as a general rule, to indicate localities in this way. It not only brings in an element of historical truth, which helps a sluggish fancy; but — at all events for people who know the places — the story gains greatly in life and vigour.”

  “Our friend hasn’t managed to steer altogether clear of that ironical bent of his, though, which is especially strong in all that concerns the fairer sex,” said Lothair. “However, I make no attack on him upon that score.”

  “Merely a pinch of salt,” said Ottmar, “to season rather meagre fare. For the fact is, I felt it as I read the story — it’s too prosaic — too much about everyday matters.”

  “As Theodore approves of naming the scene of action,” said Cyprian; “as Ottmar thinks his subject-matter over-prosaic; and if Lothair will allow me a pinch of irony now and then, I’ll read you a story which suggested itself to me when I was living in Dantzic.”

  He read: —

  THE ARTUS HOF.

  “DOUBTLESS, KIND READER, you have often heard a great deal about the fine old business town of Dantzic. And, probably, you know, from reading of them, all about the ‘lions’ of the place. But I should be better pleased could I think that you had been there, in person, at some time or other, and had actually seen, with your own eyes, the wonderful hall into which I fain would take you; I mean the ‘Artus Hof.’

  “In the mid-day hours, a throng of business men, of all nations and conditions, goes surging up and down in it, with a confused uproar of voices which deafens the ear. But, no doubt, the time when — if you were in Dantzic — you would best like to go into it would be after the exchange hours are over, when the business men are gone to their mid-day meal, and only a few rare ones now and then cross the hall at intervals with preoccupied faces — there is a passage through it, leading from one street to another — for then a magic half-light comes stealing through the dim, ancient windows, and all the curious frescoes and carvings which ornament the walls seem to come to life, and begin to move. Stags with great antlers, and other strange animals, gaze down at you with gleaming eyes, so that you don’t half care to look at them. And the more the light fades, the more awe-inspiring grows the marble statue of the king in the centre of the hall. The large picture of the Virtues and the Vices (whose names are written beside them) loses a good deal of its moral effect: for the Virtues soar more irrecognizably aloft, half hidden in grey clouds; and the Vices — beautiful women in shining raiment — come forward enticingly, and seem to be trying to lure you from the path of duty, whispering to you in accents sweet and low. Wherefore, you turn from them to the belt of colour which goes nearly round the walls, on which you see long trains of soldiers, in various costumes of the old Imperial-City times, going marching along. Worthy burgomasters, with shrewd, significant faces, ride at their head on spirited horses, richly caparisoned. The drummers and fifers, and the Hallebardiers march along so briskly and bravely that you begin to hear the stirring martial music, and expect them to go tramping out at the great window yonder on to the market-place — looking at all this, you would, if you were a draughtsman, set to work and make a pen-and-ink sketch of that fine stately Burgomaster there, with the strikingly handsome page in attendance on him. There is always plenty of pens, ink, and paper on the tables — provided at the public expense for the merchants’ use — so that you would not be able to resist the temptation.

  “There would be no objection to your so employing your time, kind reader; but that was by no means the case with Traugott, the young merchant, who was continually getting into the most terrible scrapes on this very account.

  “‘Write off at once and advise our correspondent in Hamburg of the day’s transactions, Herr Traugott,’ said Elias Roos, the head of a flourishing firm, of which Traugott had just been admitted a partner, being moreover engaged to Roos’s only daughter Christina. Traugott with some difficulty found a vacant place at the crowded tables, took a sheet of paper, dipped his pen in the ink, and was just going to begin with a fine caligraphic flourish, when — as he was rapidly revolving in his mind what he was going to say — he lifted his eyes mechanically to the wall above him.

  “Now, chance had so ordained matters that he was sitting just in front of a certain little group of two figures, the sight of which always caused him a strange, inexplicable sense of sorrow. It represented a grave-looking, almost sombre man, with a dark, curling beard, handsomely dressed, riding a black horse, with a page at his bridle whose masses of hair and richly-tinted costume gave him almost the appearance of a girl. The face and figure of the man caused Traugott a certain feeling akin to fear, but a world of sweet presage streamed forth upon him from the face of the page. Somehow he never could withdraw his eyes from this couple whenever he happened to look at them; consequently, instead of writing the Hamburg letter as he ought to have done, he kept gazing at these two figures, and drawing with his pen on the paper before him, without observing what he was about. When this had been going on for some little time, somebody tapped him on the shoulder from behind, and said, in rather a hollow voice:

  “‘Good! very good! I like that; it promises well!’

  “Traugott, waking from his dream, turned sharply round, and felt like a man struck by a thunderbolt. Astonishment, alarm, rendered him speechless; for he found himself staring into the face of the very man who was represented in the fresco on the wall above him. It was he who had spoken the words, and beside him stood the beautiful page, smiling at Traugott as if with inexpressible affection.

  “‘It is they in the body,’ was the thought which flashed through his mind. ‘They’ll throw off those ugly cloaks directly, and appear in their beautiful antique costume.’

  “The seething masses of people were hurrying to and fro, and the two strange figures were speedily lost in the throng. But Traugott stood in the same spot, with his letter of advice in his hand, till the business hours were long over, and only one or two people passed at intervals through the hall. At last he saw Herr Elias Roos, coming up to him with two strange gentlemen.

  “‘Well, Traugott,’ said Elias Roos, ‘what are you cogitating about here so late in the afternoon? Have you sent off the Hamburg advices all right?’

  “Without thinking what he was doing, Traugott handed him the sheet of paper which he had in his hand. On seeing it, Elias Roos struck his clenched fists together over his head, stamped with his right foot, slightly at first, then very violently, and shouted, till the hall resounded:

  “‘Oh! good Lord! Oh! good Lord! Stupid, childish nonsense! Here’s a partner for you! Here’s a precious son-in-law! Damnation, sir, are you out of your senses? The letter of advice, the letter of advice? Oh God — the post!’

  “Herr Elias nearly went into a fit with anger. The two strangers smiled at this singular letter of advice, which certainly wasn’t of much use as such, as it stood. Immediately after the words ‘Referring to your esteemed order of the 20th instant,’ Traugott had made a firm, bold outline sketch of the two striking figures of the old man and the page. The strange gentlemen strove to calm Herr Elias, addressing him in the most soothing tones; but he shoved his wig into various positions, banged his cane on the floor, and cried:

  “‘The devil’s in the fellow! Had a letter of advice to write; instead of that, goes and draws pictures! Five hundred pounds gone! — pht!’ — he blew through his fingers; and then repeated, in a weeping tone, ‘Five — hundred — pounds!’

  “‘Don’t distress yourself, Herr Roos,’ said, at last, the elder of the two strangers; ‘the post is gone, certainly, but I am sending a courier off to Hamburg in an hour’s time. He can take your letter of advice, and it will reach your correspondent sooner that it would have done by the regular mail.’

  “‘Most incomparable of men!’ cried Herr Elias, with full sunshine restored to his face.

  “Traugott had recovered from his astonishment, and was hastening to the table to write the advice; but Herr Elias shoved him away, saying, through his teeth, with most diabolical looks:

  “Don’t trouble yourself, my lad!’

  “While Herr Elias was writing busily, the elder of the strangers went up to Traugott, who was standing silent and abashed, and said:

  “‘You seem to be a little out of your element here, my dear sir! It would never have occurred to a real man of business to sketch figures when he ought to have been writing a letter of advice.’

  “This Traugott could not gainsay. Much astonished, himself, at what had occurred, he said:

  “‘I can’t quite make it out. I’ve written plenty of letters of advice. It’s only now and then that I make one of these mistakes.’

  “‘My dear sir,’ said the stranger, with a smile, ‘I must say I don’t think it seems to be a mistake at all. I should rather be inclined to suppose that very few of your letters of advice are worth as much as this admirable, accurate, and powerful outline sketch. There is true genius in it!’

  “With which he took the paper from Traugott, folded it carefully up, and put it in his pocket. This convinced Traugott firmly that he had done something much better than writing a letter of advice. A new spirit awoke within him; and when Elias Roos, who had finished his letter, and was still very much out of temper, cried, ‘That nonsense of yours very nearly cost me £500,’ Traugott answered him, louder and more firmly than usual, ‘Don’t go on making such a fuss, or I shall have to bid you good-morning, and write no more of your damned letters of advice.’

  “Herr Elias set his wig straight with both hands, stared at Traugott, and said:

  “What nonsense you’re talking, partner; you can’t be serious, son-in-law?’

  “The elder of the strangers intervened, and it required very few words to wholly re-establish the peace between them. Then they all went to dinner at Elias Roos’s house.

  “Christina received them in a beautifully-fitting dress, which set off her well-developed, pretty figure to advantage. She wielded the massive soup-ladle with great skill.

  “I suppose I ought to describe the five people at this dinner-table; but Traugott’s adventures are waiting to be told, and such pictures of said people as I could sketch would be very hasty. You are aware that Elias Roos wears a round wig, and I could add little more, as, from what he has said, you can see before you the little, stoutish man in his leather-coloured suit with gilt buttons. Of Traugott I have much to say, because this is his story which I am telling, and he is the principal character in it. If it is true that our thoughts, words, and works — coming, as they do, from the inner depths of our natures — do so shape and model the outward man that there results a certain marvellous harmony of the whole — not to be explained, only to be felt — which we term ‘character,’ Traugott’s appearance will be plain to you from my story without any further description. If this is not the case, all further description would be useless, and you can take this tale as not read. The two strange gentlemen are uncle and nephew, well-to-do business men, and ‘friends’ — that is to say, business connections — of Roos’s. They come from Koenigsberg, wear English clothes, carry about mahogany boot-jacks from London, are connoisseurs in the arts, and, taking them all round, persons of much cultivation. The uncle is making a collection of pictures, which is why he pocketed Traugott’s sketch.

  “As I perceive that Christina will speedily vanish from my story, I had better give a few indications of what she is like before she makes her exit. She is of medium height, with a finely-developed figure; about two or three and twenty, with a round face, a short nose, slightly turned up, and kindly light-blue eyes, which say, with a charming smile, to every man she meets, ‘I’m going to get married very soon (don’t much mind to whom). She has a beautiful, fair complexion; hair not over red; most kissable lips, and a mouth rather too large, which she has an odd way of drawing on one side, though two rows of pearls are thereby rendered visible. If the next house were on fire, and the flames were catching the room, she would just, quickly, feed her canary and put away the clothes from the wash, and then go and tell her father that the house was on fire. No almond-tart ever came to grief in her hands, and her butter-sauce is always of exactly the right thickness, because she always stirs it from left to right, never the other way. As Elias Roos has just poured out the last of the bottle into old Franz’s glass, I further remark, hastily, that it is because he’s going to marry her that she’s so fond of Traugott; for what in the world would become of her if she weren’t to get married? After dinner Roos proposed to the strangers a walk round the walls. How gladly would Traugott have made his escape and been by himself! Never had he known anything like the thoughts, feelings, and sensations which he had experienced to-day. Escape he could not, however, for just as he was slipping out at the door, without even kissing Christina’s hand, Herr Elias seized him by the coat-tails, crying, ‘Come, partner; you’re not going to give us the slip, are you, son-in-law?’ So he had to stay.