o take firm hold of the railing; his happiness made him
almost dizzy.

In the parlor, a large corner-room, they found no one. The captain went
out to summon his daughter, and Hans heard him calling, "Betty!"

Betty! What a lovely name, and how well it suited that lovely being!

The happy lover was already thinking how delightful it would be when
he came home from his work at dinner-time, and could call out into the
kitchen: "Betty! is dinner ready?"

At this moment the captain entered the room again with his daughter. She
came straight up to Cousin Hans, took his hand, and bade him welcome.

But she added, "You must really excuse me deserting you again at once,
for I am in the middle of a dish of buttered eggs, and that's no joke, I
can tell you."

Thereupon she disappeared again; the captain also withdrew to prepare
for the meal, and Cousin Hans was once more alone.

The whole meeting had not lasted many seconds, and yet it seemed to
Cousin Hans that in these moments he had toppled from ledge to ledge,
many fathoms down, into a deep, black pit. He supported himself with
both hands against an old, high-backed easy-chair; he neither heard,
saw, nor thought; but half mechanically he repeated to himself: "It was
not she--it was not she!"

No, it was not she. The lady whom he had just seen, and who must
consequently be Miss Schrappe, had not a trace of blonde hair curling
over her brow. On the contrary, she had dark hair, smoothed down to both
sides. Her eyes were not in the least roguish or light blue, but serious
and dark-gray--in short, she was as unlike the charmer as possible.

After his first paralysis, Cousin Hans's blood began to boil; a violent
anguish seized him: he raged against the captain, against Miss Schrappe,
against Uncle Frederick and Wellington, and the whole world.

He would smash the big mirror and all the furniture, and then jump
out of the corner window; or he would take his hat and stick, rush
down-stairs, leave the house, and never more set foot in it; or he would
at least remain no longer than was absolutely necessary.

Little by little he became calmer, but a deep melancholy descended upon
him. He had felt the unspeakable agony of disappointment in his first
love, and when his eye fell on his own image in the mirror, he shook his
head compassionately.

The captain now returned, well-brushed and spick and span. He opened a
conversation about the politics of the day. It was with difficu