d known and cared
for me well enough to run up the stairs, put his head into the room, and
talk to me about his affairs.

To the sound of gustily blowing wind and rain beating on the pane, the
afternoon hours dragged slowly by, and the world went on outside and
around me until about five o'clock. Then there came a knock at my door,
an occurrence so unprecedented that I sat and stared at the said door
instead of speaking, as if Edgar Poe's raven had put in a sudden
appearance and begun to croak its "never-more" at me.

The door was opened. A dreadful, dirty-looking young woman, a servant of
the house, stood in the door-way.

"What do you want?" I inquired.

A gentleman wished to speak to me.

"Bring him in then," said I, somewhat testily.

She turned and requested some one to come forward. There entered a tall
and stately man, with one of those rare faces, beautiful in feature,
bright in expression, which one meets sometimes, and, having once seen,
never forgets. He carried what I took at first for a bundle done up in a
dark-green plaid, but as I stood up and looked at him I perceived that
the plaid was wrapped round a child. Lost in astonishment, I gazed at
him in silence.

"I beg you will excuse my intruding upon you thus," said he, bowing, and
I involuntarily returned his bow, wondering more and more what he could
be. His accent was none of the Elberthal one; it was fine, refined,
polished.

"How can I serve you?" I asked, impressed by his voice, manner, and
appearance; agreeably impressed. A little masterful he looked--a little
imperious, but not unapproachable, with nothing ungenial in his pride.

"You could serve me very much by giving me one or two pieces of
information. In the first place let me introduce myself; you, I think,
are Herr Helfen?" I bowed. "My name is Eugen Courvoisier. I am the new
member of your _staedtisches Orchester_."

"_O, was!_" said I, within myself. "That our new first violin!"

"And this is my son," he added, looking down at the plaid bundle, which
he held very carefully and tenderly. "If you will tell me at what time
the opera begins, what it is to-night, and finally, if there is a room
to be had, perhaps in this house, even for one night. I must find a nest
for this _Voegelein_ as soon as I possibly can."

"I believe the opera begins at seven," said I, still gazing at him in
astonishment, with open mouth and incredulous eyes. Our orchestra
contained among its sufficiently