so godless, for you sang so
devoutly. She said that I was not to tell you this, but she is a rogue,
she meant that I should tell you. O Eric! and the Justice's Lina, and
the Architect; too, are among the singers; they are walking arm in arm,
and they recognised you, but they did not betray you. O Eric, how you
did sing! it seemed to me that you could fly too; I was every moment
afraid that you would spread your wings and fly away."

The youth was in a state of feverish excitement.

An usher came to invite Eric and his brother--such he supposed Roland
to be--to be present at the dinner and to sit near the director.

Others came who knew him, and strangers who wished to be introduced.

A photographer, who was one of the solo singers, besought Eric to allow
him to take his photograph, while he was waiting for dinner, as
hundreds and hundreds of the singers wanted to have a picture of him.

Eric declined, with thanks, these manifestations of friendliness, and
took, with Roland the first boat to return to the villa.

Roland went into the cabin, and he was soon sound asleep; Eric sat
alone upon the deck, and he was troubled with the thought of having
been brought so prominently before the public. But he considered, on
the other hand, that there are times when our powers do not belong to
ourselves alone, and when we cannot ourselves determine what we will
do: I did what I was obliged to do, he thought.

When they came to the stopping-place, Roland had to be waked up. He was
almost dragged into the row-boat, and he was so confused and
bewildered, that he did not seem to know what was going on around him.

After they had disembarked, he said:--

"Eric, your name is now repeated by thousands and thousands of people,
and you are now very famous."

Roland, who had never sung before, now sang, the whole way home, a
strain of the chorus.

They found at the villa letters from Eric's mother and from Herr
Sonnenkamp. His mother wrote, that he must not mind it if he were
reproached with having sold so cheaply, and so speedily his _ideal_
views, for people were angry, and were partially right in being so, at
his abrupt departure without saying good-bye.

Eric smiled, for he knew right well how they would have their fill of
jesting about him around the so-called black table at the Club-house,
where, year after year, the shining oil-cloth was spread over the
untidy table-cloth. It appeared incomprehensible to him how he could