d by the circumstances in which
she happened to be placed. There was but one whose deportment remains
to be described as being of importance to our happiness. Had Pleyel
likewise dismissed his vivacity?

He was as whimsical and jestful as ever, but he was not happy. The
truth, in this respect, was of too much importance to me not to make me
a vigilant observer. His mirth was easily perceived to be the fruit
of exertion. When his thoughts wandered from the company, an air of
dissatisfaction and impatience stole across his features. Even the
punctuality and frequency of his visits were somewhat lessened. It may
be supposed that my own uneasiness was heightened by these tokens; but,
strange as it may seem, I found, in the present state of my mind, no
relief but in the persuasion that Pleyel was unhappy.

That unhappiness, indeed, depended, for its value in my eyes, on the
cause that produced it. It did not arise from the death of the Saxon
lady: it was not a contagious emanation from the countenances of Wieland
or Carwin. There was but one other source whence it could flow. A
nameless ecstacy thrilled through my frame when any new proof occurred
that the ambiguousness of my behaviour was the cause.

Chapter IX

My brother had received a new book from Germany. It was a tragedy, and
the first attempt of a Saxon poet, of whom my brother had been taught to
entertain the highest expectations. The exploits of Zisca, the Bohemian
hero, were woven into a dramatic series and connection. According to
German custom, it was minute and diffuse, and dictated by an adventurous
and lawless fancy. It was a chain of audacious acts, and unheard-of
disasters. The moated fortress, and the thicket; the ambush and the
battle; and the conflict of headlong passions, were pourtrayed in
wild numbers, and with terrific energy. An afternoon was set apart to
rehearse this performance. The language was familiar to all of us but
Carwin, whose company, therefore, was tacitly dispensed with.

The morning previous to this intended rehearsal, I spent at home. My
mind was occupied with reflections relative to my own situation. The
sentiment which lived with chief energy in my heart, was connected
with the image of Pleyel. In the midst of my anguish, I had not been
destitute of consolation. His late deportment had given spring to my
hopes. Was not the hour at hand, which should render me the happiest
of human creatures? He suspected that I looked wi