ed that he understood her, and at eight o'clock the next morning
was kneeling by her side at mass, where he took advantage of a favorable
opportunity to whisper: "Beautiful Carmen!"

The young girl blushed, but he vainly awaited an answer. Carmen now rose,
and when Ulrich also stood up to permit her to pass, she dropped her
prayer-book, as if by accident. He stooped with her to pick it up, and
when their heads nearly touched, she whispered hurriedly: "Nine o'clock
this evening in the shell grotto; the garden will be open."

Carmen awaited him at the appointed place.

At first Ulrich's heart throbbed so loudly and passionately, that he
could find no words; but the young girl helped him, by telling him that
he was a handsome fellow, whom it would be easy to love.

Then he remembered the vows of tenderness he had translated at Kochel's,
falteringly repeated them, and fell on one knee before her, like all the
heroes in adventures and romances.

And behold! Carmen did exactly the same as the young ladies whose
acquaintance he had made at his teacher's, begged him to rise, and when
he willingly obeyed the command--for he wore thin silk stockings and the
grotto was paved with sharp stones--drew him to her heart, and tenderly
stroked his hair back from his face with her dainty fingers, while he
gladly permitted her to press her soft young lips to his.

All this was delightful, and he had no occasion to speak at all; yet
Ulrich felt timid and nervous. It seemed like a deliverance when the
footsteps of the guard were heard, and Carmen drew him away through the
gate with her into the court-yard.

Before the little door leading into her father's room she again pressed
his hand, and then vanished as swiftly as a shadow.

Ulrich remained alone, pacing slowly up and down before the treasury, for
he knew that he had done something very wrong, and did not venture to
appear before the artist.

When he entered the dark garden, he had again summoned "fortune" to his
aid; but now it would have pleased him better, if it had been less
willing to come to his assistance.

Candles were burning in the studio, and Moor sat in his arm-chair,
holding--Ulrich would fain have bidden himself in the earth--the boy's
Cupid in his hands.

The young culprit wanted to slip past his teacher with a low "good
night," but the latter called him, and pointing to the picture, smilingly
asked: "Did you paint this?"

Ulrich nodded, blushing furiously.