looking silently before him; then after
sending a glance at the audience which entered lovely Rose's bosom like
a burning arrow, and caused her to fetch a deep sigh, he began such a
splendid song in Heinrich Frauenlob's[33] _Zarter Ton_, that all the
masters agreed with one accord there was none amongst them who could
surpass the young journeyman.

The singing-school came to an end towards evening, and Master Martin,
in order to finish off the day's enjoyment in proper style, betook
himself in high good-humour to the Allerwiese along with Rose. The two
journeymen, Reinhold and Frederick, were permitted to accompany them;
Rose was walking between them. Frederick, radiant with delight at the
masters' praise, and intoxicated with happiness, ventured to breathe
many a daring word in Rose's ear which she, however, casting down her
eyes in maidenly coyness, pretended not to hear. Rather she turned to
Reinhold, who, according to his wont, was running on with all sorts of
merry nonsense; nor did he hesitate to place his arm in Rose's. Whilst
even at a considerable distance from the Allerwiese they could hear
noisy shouts and cries. Arrived at the place where the young men were
amusing themselves in all kinds of games, partly chivalric, they heard
the crowd shout time after time, "Won again! won again! He's the
strongest again! Nobody can compete with him." Master Martin, on
working his way through the crowd, perceived that it was nobody else
but his journeyman Conrad who was reaping all this praise and exciting
the people to all this applause. He had beaten everybody in racing and
boxing and throwing the spear. As Martin came up, Conrad was shouting
out and inquiring if there was anybody who would have a merry bout with
him with blunt swords. This challenge several stout young patricians,
well accustomed to this species of pastime, stepped forward and
accepted. But it was not long before Conrad had again, without much
trouble or exertion, overcome all his opponents; and the applause at
his skill and strength seemed as if it would never end.

The sun had set; the last glow of evening died away, and twilight began
to creep on apace. Master Martin, with Rose and the two journeymen, had
thrown themselves down beside a babbling spring of water. Reinhold was
telling of the wonders of distant Italy, but Frederick, quiet and
happy, had his eyes fixed on pretty Rose's face. Then Conrad drew near
with slow hesitating steps, as if rathe