lder was very fond, bought all sorts of trifles for him, and
seemed to himself very brave and resolute, in using so much self
constraint as to lengthen the long distance to Rosenstrasse by his
numerous delays. He even felt capable of maintaining perfectly his self
control, if it should chance that he never saw her again. When he at
last knocked at her door, he considered it a great proof of his
courage, that he went to meet danger so boldly.

The third house from the corner on the right hand side--now he was
standing before it. The early hour, which was by no means suitable for
visiting, did not trouble him in the least. Yet he willingly allowed
Mohr, who happened to meet him just in front of the house, to drag him
away for some distance, and listened patiently to his contemptuous
criticism of a new tragedy which had created a great _furore_ the
evening before, and which was a wretched abortion, badly pieced out
with stolen fragments. What was at this moment, the "degeneration of
the German stage" to him! what even his friend's hopes that his
"_sinfonia ironica_" would at last obtain recognition, since a very
able musician--he did not say it was no other than Christiane--was
sincerely interested in it. They saw Franzelius on the other side of
the street, engaged in an eager conversation with a dirty fellow in a
blue blouse. He recognized them, but pulled his cap farther over his
face and looked away. Mohr was just beginning to criticize the first
number of the "Tribune of the People," which he had with him and which
he declared to be an infallible remedy for melancholy. But Edwin
suddenly turned away, and under the pretence that he had a lesson to
give in that house, hastily retraced his steps as if to make up for
lost time, and went up the steps without delay.

His heart beat even more violently than at his first visit to her. On
reaching the landing, he tried several times in an undertone, to see if
he had breath enough to say good morning. But not until he had gazed at
the bell handle for at least ten minutes, did he feel sufficiently
composed to ring and ask the old woman who opened the door, if Fraeulein
Toinette Marchand was in.

"She lives here," was the reply, "but it is so early that she isn't
dressed yet."

"She will probably see an old friend," replied Edwin quickly, and
without heeding the woman's gesture of denial he crossed the threshold.
At the same moment, one of the doors leading into the corridor o