A maid came in just then with an apronful of snow. The girl with the
sweeping train ran up to her, got some of the snow, and threatened to
pelt Herr Carovius with it. He begged for mercy; and rather than undergo
a bombardment with this cold stuff, he ceased offering resistance,
whereupon the girl walked up to him and placed the mask on his face.
Then, exhausted from laughter, she laid her head on his shoulder. The
maid--it was Doederlein's maid--was delighted at the comedy, and made a
noise that resembled the cackling of a hen.

The scene was dimly lighted by a lamp attached to the adjacent wall, and
had on this account, quite apart from the sight of Herr Carovius with
the paper crown and the toper's mask, something fantastic about it.

Daniel did not know that the girl was Dorothea Doederlein, though he
half suspected as much. But whoever she was, he was impressed by her
jollity, her actual lust for laughter, her complete lack of restraint.
He had never known that sort of mirthful hilarity; and if he had known
it, he could not recall it. Her youthful features, her bright eyes, her
white teeth, her agile gestures filled him with deferential respect; his
eyes swam with emotion. He felt so old, so foreign; he felt that where
he was the sun was not shining, the flowers were not budding. He felt
that life had appeared to him all of a sudden and quite unexpectedly in
a new, kindly, bewitching light.

He came slowly down the steps.

"Is it possible!" cried Herr Carovius, tearing the mask from his face.
"Can I trust my own eyes? It is our _maestro_! Or is it his ghost?"

"It is both he and his ghost," replied Daniel drily.

"This is no place for ghosts," cried Dorothea, and threw a snow ball,
hitting him square on the shoulder.

Daniel looked at her; she blushed, and looked at Herr Carovius
questioningly. "Don't you know our Daniel Nothafft, you little
ignoramus?" said Herr Carovius. "You know nothing of our coryphaeus? Hail
to the Master! Welcome home! He is here, covered with fame!"

At any other time Herr Carovius's biliary sarcasm would have aroused
Daniel's whole stock-in-trade of aversion and indignation. To-day he was
unimpressed by it. "How young she is," he thought, as he feasted his
eyes on the embarrassed, laughing Dorothea, "how gloriously young!"

Dorothea was angry because she did not have on the red dress she had had
made in Munich.

"Dorothea!" called a strong voice from the first floor.

"Oh, there