e is a cut above you and me, in a different
sphere, one that we know nothing about. What is more, she knows it, and
shows it. Be glad that you can not lay yourself open to the snub that I
got to-night."

There was so much bitterness in his tone that I was surprised. But a
sudden remembrance flushed into my mind of his strange remarks after I
had left him that day at Cologne, and I laughed to myself, nor, when he
asked me, would I tell him why. That evening he had very little to say
to Karl Linders and myself.

Eugen never spoke to me of the beautiful girl who had behaved so
strangely that evening, though we saw her again and again.

Sometimes I used to meet her in the street, in company with the dark,
plain girl, Anna Sartorius, who, I fancied, always surveyed Eugen with a
look of recognition. The two young women formed in appearance an almost
startling contrast. She came to all the concerts, as if she made music a
study--generally she was with a stout, good-natured-looking German
Fraeulein, and the young Englishman, Vincent. There was always something
rather melancholy about her grace and beauty.

Most beautiful she was; with long, slender, artist-like hands, the face
a perfect oval, but the features more piquant than regular; sometimes a
subdued fire glowed in her eyes and compressed her lips, which removed
her altogether from the category of spiritless beauties--a genus for
which I never had the least taste.

One morning Courvoisier and I, standing just within the entrance to the
theater orchestra, saw two people go by. One, a figure well enough known
to every one in Elberthal, and especially to us--that of Max von
Francius. Did I ever say that von Francius was an exceedingly handsome
fellow, in a certain dark, clean-shaved style? On that occasion he was
speaking with more animation than was usual with him, and the person to
whom he had unbent so far was the fair English woman--that enigmatical
beauty who had cut my friend at the opera. She also was looking animated
and very beautiful; her face turned to his with a smile--a glad,
gratified smile. He was saying:

"But in the next lesson, you know--"

They passed on. I turned to ask Eugen if he had seen. I needed not to
put the question. He had seen. There was a forced smile upon his lips.
Before I could speak he had said:

"It's time to go in, Friedel; come along!" With which he turned into the
theater, and I followed thoughtfully.

Then it was rumored that