, "now he will take seconds."

"Then I will not disturb you any longer."

"On the contrary," said he, laying his hand upon my wrist. (My dream of
the morning flashed into my mind.) "It would be better if you remained,
then we could have a trio. Friedel, come here! You are just in time.
Fraeulein Wedderburn will be good enough to accompany us, and we can try
the Fourth Symphony."

"What you call 'Spring'?" inquired Helfen, coming up smilingly. "With
all my heart. Where is the score?"

"What you call Spring?" Was it possible that in winter--on a cold and
unfriendly day--we were going to have spring, leafy bloom, the desert
filled with leaping springs, and blossoming like a rose? Full of wonder,
surprise, and a certain excitement at the idea, I sat still and thought
of my dream, and the rain beat against the windows, and a draughty wind
fluttered the tinselly decorations of last night. The floor was strewed
with fragments of garments torn in the crush--paper and silken flowers,
here a rosette, there a buckle, a satin bow, a tinsel spangle. Benches
and tables were piled about the room, which was half dark; only to
westward, through one window, was visible a paler gleam, which might by
comparison be called light.

The two young men turned over the music, laughing at something, and
chaffing each other. I never in my life saw two such entire friends as
these; they seemed to harmonize most perfectly in the midst of their
unlikeness to each other.

"Excuse that we kept you waiting, _mein Fraeulein_," said Courvoisier,
placing some music before me. "This fellow is so slow, and will put
everything into order as he uses it."

"Well for you that I am, _mein lieber_," said Helfen, composedly. "If
any one had the enterprise to offer a prize to the most extravagant,
untidy fellow in Europe, the palm would be yours--by a long way too."

"Friedel binds his music and numbers it," observed Courvoisier. "It is
one of the most beautiful and affecting of sights to behold him with
scissors, paste-pot, brush and binding. It occurs periodically about
four times a year, I think, and moves me almost to tears when I see it."

"_Der edle Ritter_ leaves his music unbound, and borrows mine on every
possible occasion when his own property is scattered to the four winds
of heaven."

"_Aber! aber!_" cried Eugen. "That is too much! I call Frau Schmidt to
witness that all my music is put in one place."

"I never said it wasn't. But you never c