young man that had guided the
artists to their seats--several times attempted a timid "Mr. Lilienfeld,
Mr. Lilienfeld." Finally Lilienfeld caught the sound and, holding his
hand to his ear, stepped to the edge of the stage. Forthwith a shower of
curses, which had ceased for an instant, descended upon the lad, with
reinforced severity. The reflector man came and received his dose of
furious rebukes. A man in a silk hat pushed in three musicians, carrying
a tom-tom, a cymbal and a flute.

"Where's the flower? The flower! The flower!" Lilienfeld now shouted into
the parquet, when a hesitating "I don't know" came from somewhere.
Lilienfeld disappeared, crying "Where's the flower? Where's the flower?"

"Where's the flower? The flower! The flower!" was taken up in endless
echoes here and there, above and below, from the wings, on the stage, and
now from the last rows of the parquet--a circumstance which only
increased the artists' inclination to titter.

A few more lights were turned on, and a remarkable, great red paper
flower was set on the stage. Lilienfeld, now better satisfied, reappeared
and entered into a conversation with the three musicians.

"Have you studied the dance I told you to?" he demanded, humming the tune
and stressing the accented parts to impress it upon them. "Now then," he
said, "let's hear what you can do." He raised his bamboo cane like a
conductor's baton and said commandingly, "Well, begin."

And the musicians began to play that provoking, passionate melody, that
barbaric music, now dull and suppressed, now loud and screeching, which,
ever since it first began to excite his nerves, had pursued Frederick
night and day. He thanked heaven that the darkness helped conceal his
emotion. It was that hard, convulsive motive conjuring up the demons
which had been the beginning of his obsession in the _Kuenstlerhaus_ in
Berlin. Over and again those sounds had lured him and led him on.

What was this strange Ariel's intention with him? At whose bidding was he
acting when he assailed his victim with inner storms and almost let him
perish in a real storm on the seas? Why did he prick Frederick's flesh
with this music? Why did he cast its inseverable hempen cords about his
throat and limbs? How was it that after so tremendous an eternal tragedy
had been enacted out there on the cosmic solitudes of the ocean, after
the waters had unmercifully swallowed so vast a number of men, loving
life--how was it that th