e
bushes, and peeped at him with large beaming eyes from the clear brook.
Clara's image had completely vanished from his mind; he thought of
nothing but Olympia, and complained aloud and in a murmuring tone: "Ah,
thou noble, sublime star of my love, hast thou only risen upon me, to
vanish immediately, and leave me in dark hopeless night?"

When he was retiring to his lodging, he perceived that there was a
great bustle in Spalanzani's house. The doors were wide open, all
sorts of utensils were being carried in, the windows of the first floor
were being taken out, maid servants were going about sweeping and
dusting with great hair-brooms, and carpenters and upholsterers were
knocking and hammering within. Nathaniel remained standing in the
street in a state of perfect wonder, when Sigismund came up to him,
laughing, and said: "Now, what do you say to our old Spalanzani?"
Nathaniel assured him that he could say nothing because he knew nothing
about the professor, but on the contrary perceived with astonishment
the mad proceedings in a house otherwise so quiet and gloomy. He then
learnt from Sigismund that Spalanzani intended to give a grand festival
on the following day,--a concert and ball--and that half the university
was invited. It was generally reported that Spalanzani, who had so
long kept his daughter most painfully from every human eye, would now
let her appear for the first time.

Nathaniel found a card of invitation, and with heart beating highly
went at the appointed hour to the professor's, where the coaches were
already rolling, and the lights were shining in the decorated saloons.
The company was numerous and brilliant. Olympia appeared dressed with
great richness and taste. Her beautifully turned face, her figure
called for admiration. The somewhat strange bend of her back inwards,
the wasp-like thinness of her waist, seemed to be produced by too tight
lacing. In her step and deportment there was something measured and
stiff, which struck many as unpleasant, but it was ascribed to the
constraint produced by the company. The concert began, Olympia played
the piano with great dexterity, and executed a bravura, with a voice,
like the sound of a glass bell, clear, and almost cutting. Nathaniel
was quite enraptured; he stood in the hindermost row, and could not
perfectly recognise Olympia's features in the dazzling light. He,
therefore, quite unperceived, took out Coppola's glass, and looked
towards