a wealth of melody, rhythm, and originality!
What discipline, sweetness, power! What a splendid fellow he is! And to
think that a man like that lives right here among us, and plagues and
tortures himself! A disgrace and a shame it is! Come, my dear woman, we
will go to him at once. I want to press him to my bosom...."

But Eleanore, whose face burned with the feeling of good fortune,
interrupted him, and said: "If you do that, you will spoil everything.
It will be much better to tell me what to do. He will become more and
more obstinate and bitter, if some ray of light does not soon fall on
what he has thus far created."

The old man thought for a while: "You leave the score with me; I'll see
what I can do with it; I have an idea," he replied, after a short time
had elapsed.

Eleanore went back home full of hope.

The quartette was sent to Berlin, and placed in the hands of a man of
influence and discrimination. Some professional musicians soon became
acquainted with it and its merits. Professor Herold received a number of
enthusiastic letters, and answered them with characteristic and
becoming shrewdness. A cycle of sagas was soon afloat in Berlin
concerning the habits and personality of the unknown master. It was said
that he was an anchorite who lived in the Franconian forests and
preached renunciation of all earthly pleasures.

In Leipzig the quartette was played before an invited audience. The
applause was quite different from what it ordinarily was in the case of
a public that is surfeited with musical novelties.

Thereby Daniel finally learned what had been done. One day he received a
letter from the man who had arranged the concert, a certain Herr
Loewenberg. The letter closed as follows: "A community of admirers is
anxious to come into possession of your compositions. They send you
their greetings at present with cordial gratitude."

Daniel could scarcely believe his own eyes; it was like magic. Without
saying a word he handed the letter to Eleanore. She read it, and looked
at him quietly.

"Yes, I am guilty," she said, "I stole the quartette."

"Is that so? Do you realise, Eleanore, what you have done to me?"

Eleanore's face coloured with surprise and fear.

"You ought to know; probably in the future you will lose interest in
such womanish wiles."

He walked back and forth, and then stepped up very close to her: "You
probably think I am an idiotic simpleton, a dullard. You seem to feel
that I