so changed, and certainly most
advantageously; he wore short breeches of lily-colored satin, a
white waistcoat embroidered with silver, and a coat of bright blue
velvet with gold buttons; the hair in little carefully curled locks
bordered his face, which was young and rosy, and gleamed with sweet
tenderness as he ogled the pretty young lady who stood near him at
the music-desk, while he played the violin.

Yes, I saw at his side a pretty young creature, dressed in antique
costume, the white satin swelled out above the waist, making the
figure still more charmingly slender; the high raised hair was
powdered and curled, and the pretty round face shone out all the
more openly with its glancing eyes, its little rouged cheeks, its
tiny beauty-patches, and the sweet, impertinent little nose. In her
hand was a roll of white paper, and by the movements of her lips as
well as by the coquettish waving to and fro of her little upper lip
she seemed to be singing; but none of her trills was audible to me,
and only from the violin with which young Paganini led the lovely
child could I discover what she sang, and what he himself during
her song felt in his soul.

Oh, what melodies were those! Like the nightingale's notes, when
the fragrance of the rose intoxicates her yearning young heart with
desire, they floated in the twilight. Oh, what melting, languid
delight was that! The sounds kissed each other, then fled away
pouting, and then, laughing, clasped each other and became one, and
died away in intoxicating harmony. Yes, the sounds carried on their
merry game like butterflies, when one, in playful provocation, will
escape from another, hide behind a flower, be overtaken at last,
and then, wantonly joying with the other, fly away into the golden
sunlight. But a spider, a spider can prepare a sudden tragical fate
for such enamored butterflies!

Did the young heart anticipate this? A melancholy sighing tone, a
sad foreboding of some slowly approaching misfortune, glided softly
through the enrapturing melodies that were streaming from
Paganini's violin. His eyes became moist. Adoringly he knelt down
before his amata. But, alas! as he bowed down to kiss her feet, he
saw under the sofa a little abbate! I do not know what he had
against the poor man, but the G