h me."

"Oh, thank you," said Eugen; "that will be very kind. He wants some
fresh air, and I've had no time to take him out. You are very kind."

"Trust to me, Herr Concertmeister--trust to me," said she, with the
usual imperial wave of her hand, as she at last moved aside from the
door-way which she had blocked up and allowed us to pass out. A last
wave of the hand from Eugen to Sigmund, and then we hurried away to the
station. We were bound for Cologne, where that year the Lower Rhine
Musikfest was to be held. It was then somewhat past the middle of April,
and the fest came off at Whitsuntide, in the middle of May. We, among
others, were engaged to strengthen the Cologne orchestra for the
occasion, and we were bidden this morning to the first probe.

We just caught our train, seeing one or two faces of comrades we knew,
and in an hour were in Koeln.

"The Tower of Babel," and Raff's Fifth Symphonie, that called "Lenore,"
were the subjects we had been summoned to practice. They, together with
Beethoven's "Choral Fantasia" and some solos were to come off on the
third evening of the fest.

The probe lasted a long time; it was three o'clock when we left the
concert-hall, after five hours' hard work.

"Come along, Eugen," cried I, "we have just time to catch the three-ten,
but only just."

"Don't wait for me," he answered, with an absent look. "I don't think I
shall come by it. Look after yourself, Friedel, and _auf wiedersehen_!"

I was scarcely surprised, for I had seen that the music had deeply moved
him, and I can understand the wish of any man to be alone with the
remembrance or continuance of such emotions. Accordingly I took my way
to the station, and there met one or two of my Elberthal comrades, who
had been on the same errand as myself, and, like me, were returning
home.

Lively remarks upon the probable features of the coming fest, and the
circulation of any amount of loose and hazy gossip respecting composers
and soloists followed, and we all went to our usual restauration and
dined together. There was an opera that night to which we had probe that
afternoon, and I scarcely had time to rush home and give a look at
Sigmund before it was time to go again to the theater.

Eugen's place remained empty. For the first time since he had come into
the orchestra he was absent from his post, and I wondered what could
have kept him.

Taking my way home, very tired, with fragments of airs from "Czar und
Zimme