yes his head reclining on his right arm, as if
trying to shield himself from this sudden attack.

All at once I perceived that his lips grew still paler, his eyes opened
partially and lost all expression; then his head sank heavily against
the back of his chair.

Several of the audience also observed this, yet no one moved to assist
the fainting man. I fancied, judging by the scornful expression on
their faces, that they with malicious pleasure, purposely left this
benevolent charge to me. I got up and begged the performer to stop, as
a gentleman was unwell. I sprinkled his forehead with eau de cologne
which I always carry with me, and let him inhale the vivifying perfume.
Part of the company had risen, but none of them left their places:
it was only to observe the spectacle more at their case. Only the
cither-player came to me, and helped me to support Morrik, when his
senses had returned; and to lead him the few steps to the door. Once
out of the room, where the fresh December-wind blew across his face, he
recovered completely. He looked inquiringly at me, then remembered what
had occurred and leant slightly on my arm as I led him down stairs. "I
thank you;" was all he said, and we walked on together as his servant
was nowhere to be found. I accompanied him up the _kleine_ Lauben, as
the street leading past the Post is called, and as far as the church
from whence we could see his lodgings. "Do you feel better?" I asked.
He bowed his head and made a movement as though he now wished to walk
alone. Ere we parted he pressed my hand endeavoured to repress a sigh,
and silently turned towards the house. I watched him till he had
reached the door; he walked with firm slow steps, and did not once look
back. When he had disappeared, I too went home.

I feel so overcome by this event that I must lie down; my head is
nearly bursting with pain, and when I close my eyes the harsh hammering
sound of that wooden instrument, which surely has received the name of
"divine" in derision, rushes wildly into my ears, and I feel feverish
and exhausted from the heat and oppressive air of the room.

The 11th January.

A fortnight of sickness and suffering, during which I did not open a
book or play a note on the piano--It was only a slight influenza, sleep
and diet have pulled me through--though one night when the fever
tormented me with horrible visions, I was on the point of calling in a