take him. I asked Hugo von Meilingen to
settle affairs for me, and left that night. Thanks to you, Bruno, the
story never got abroad. The rest you know."

"What did you tell Hugo von Meilingen?"

"Only that I had made a mess of everything and broken my wife's heart,
which he did not seem to believe. He was stanch. He settled up
everything. Some day I will thank him for it. For two years I traveled
about a good deal. Sigmund has been more a citizen of the world than he
knows. I had so much facility of execution--"

"So much genius, you mean," I interposed.

"That I never had any difficulty in getting an engagement. I saw a
wonderful amount of life of a certain kind, and learned most thoroughly
to despise my own past, and to entertain a thorough contempt for those
who are still leading such lives. I have learned German history in my
banishment. I have lived with our trues heroes--the lower
middle-classes."

"Well, well! You were always a radical, Eugen," said the count,
indulgently.

"At last, at Koeln I obtained the situation of first violinist in the
Elberthal Kapelle, and I went over there one wet October afternoon and
saw the director, von Francius. He was busy, and referred me to the man
who was next below me, Friedhelm Helfen."

Eugen paused, and choked down some little emotion ere he added:

"You must know him. I trust to have his friendship till death separates
us. He is a nobleman of nature's most careful making--a knight _sans
peur et sans reproche_. When Sigmund came here it was he who saved me
from doing something desperate or driveling--there is not much of a step
between the two. Fraeulein Sartorius, who seems to have a peculiar
disposition, took it into her head to confront me with a charge of my
guilt at a public place. Friedhelm never wavered, despite my shame and
my inability to deny the charge."

"Oh, dear, how beautiful!" said the countess, in tears.

"We must have him over here and see a great deal of him."

"We must certainly know him, and that soon," said Count Bruno.

At this juncture I, from mingled motives, stole from the room, and found
my way to Sigmund's bedside, where also joy awaited me. The stupor and
the restlessness had alike vanished; he was in a deep sleep. I knelt
down by the bedside and remained there long.

Nothing, then, was to be as I had planned it. There would be no poverty,
no shame to contend against--no struggle to make, except the struggle up
to the standard-