as gone that the loose locks, drooping over the
laughing glance, suited him better than that neatly cropped propriety.

Days passed, and Karl was still not his old self. It became matter of
public remark that his easy, short jacket, a mongrel kind of garment to
which he was deeply attached, was discarded, not merely for grand
occasions, but even upon the ordinary Saturday night concert, yea, even
for walking out at midday, and a superior frock-coat substituted for
it--a frock-coat in which, we told him, he looked quite _edel_. At which
he pished and pshawed, but surreptitiously adjusted his collar before
the looking-glass which the propriety and satisfactoriness of our
behavior had induced Frau Schmidt to add to our responsibilities, pulled
his cuffs down, and remarked _en passant_ that "the 'cello was a
horribly ungraceful instrument."

"Not as you use it," said we both, politely, and allowed him to lead the
way to the concert-room.

A few evenings later he strolled into our room, lighted a cigar, and
sighed deeply.

"What ails thee, then, Karl?" I asked.

"I've something on my mind," he replied, uneasily.

"That we know," put in Eugen; "and a pretty big lump it must be, too.
Out with it, man! Has she accepted the bottle-nosed oboist after all?"

"No."

"Have you got into debt? How much? I dare say we can manage it between
us."

"No--oh, no! I am five thalers to the good."

Our countenances grow more serious. Not debt? Then what was it, what
could it be?

"I hope nothing has happened to Gretchen," suggested Eugen, for
Gretchen, his sister, was the one permanently strong love of Karl's
heart.

"Oh, no! _Das Maedel_ is very well, and getting on in her classes."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm--engaged--to be married."

I grieve to say that Eugen and I, after staring at him for some few
minutes, until we had taken in the announcement, both burst into the
most immoderate laughter--till the tears ran down our cheeks, and our
sides ached.

Karl sat quite still, unresponsive, puffing away at his cigar; and when
we had finished, or rather were becoming a little more moderate in the
expression of our amusement, he knocked the ash away from his weed, and
remarked:

"That's blind jealousy. You both know that there isn't a _Maedchen_ in
the place who would look at you, so you try to laugh at people who are
better off than yourselves."

This was so stinging (from the tone more than the words) as coming from
the