Mohr was standing outside; his face was deeply flushed, and his eyes,
as soon as the door opened, strove with a keen, intent gaze, to pierce
the darkness within; but his manner was perfectly unembarrassed, almost
formal.

"I beg a thousand pardons, Fraeulein," he said, "for having knocked at
your door a second time at so unseasonable an hour, but if I violate
ceremony, to an artist my errand will plead my excuse. I only beg
fifteen minutes conversation;--Have you a visitor?" he continued, as he
suddenly perceived the figure of a man in the adjoining room. "So much
the better, that will prevent all thought of indecorum. Will you allow
me to enter? There's a disagreeable draught on these stairs. Or shall I
interrupt you?"

"Not in the least," replied Christiane, with a very gloomy expression,
as she slightly bent her head. "To be sure I've not the honor of your
acquaintance--"

"As a friend of your fellow lodgers up stairs, I thought I had a sort
of right to introduce myself to you. A short time ago, in a merry mood,
I made an unsuccessful attempt to do so, though my friend Edwin tried
to prevent me. You cannot have condemned it so severely as I did
myself, so soon as I came to my senses."

"I have no recollection, sir--"

"So much the better. It was quite dark in the entry. Today, by the lamp
light, permit me to introduce myself to you: plain Heinrich Mohr; I
scorned to buy a doctor's title. A man usually who has nothing to make
him must have some distinction."

"Will you be kind enough to inform me--"

She was still standing in the ante-room with the lamp in her hand, as
if she wished to get rid of him as quickly as possible, while he from
time to time cast eager glances into the sitting room.

"I will come to the point at once," said he leaning against a chest of
drawers which stood near the door. "What I have to propose, is no
secret and requires no privacy. Unfortunately, it is tolerably well
known to all who are aware of my existence--but will you not sit down,
Fraulein? To stand so--" He made a movement toward the door of the
sitting room.

"Thank you. I'm not tired."

"Nor I. So to proceed: I'm unfortunately endowed with all sorts of
mediocre talents. One would be enough to make a man who is no fool, but
possesses a critical judgment, thoroughly unhappy. In the arts bungling
even is worse than in medicine. What does it matter if a few men die
more or less? But to corrupt or lower the standard of ar