thaw had set in; there would be no band, no torches, no Helene!

Such an opportunity I was never to have again. The river that had
befriended me had lost its strength, and was no more to carry her or me;
soon it would flow its natural course. Thoughts alone and words remained
icebound, and my hopes sank below zero. Henceforth I should meet her
only on _terra firma_, and--alas!--_terra firma_ was not as friendly an
element as _aqua firma_ had been.

The first time I saw her was about three weeks after the "My dear Felix"
day. She was walking with her mother along that beautiful promenade that
encircles the old city of Leipsic. On her other side was a middle-aged
man--he must have been at least twenty-five--and he--oh! I could see it
at a glance--was all smiles, doing the amiable. _He_ was not like
Julius; _he_ knew which was the dimple side and had taken it.

To be sure I had to pull off my cap and salute, what they call bow and
grin; but I felt like a bird with clipped wings, a string tied to its
leg and fastened to a bar of its cage.

After that I did not see her for a long time. I heard she had gone to
Dresden on a visit to friends. Once or twice I met her brothers, but,
although I quite intended to do so, I could not summon courage to ask
them who was the middle-aged man; nor did they seem inclined to talk
about him or about her. But the truth gradually leaked out. He was the
acknowledged suitor. Soon the news came. They were engaged. She was
going to Switzerland in the summer to meet his parents, and in the
autumn they were to be married. It was true, then: Helene had preferred
a man to a boy!

Once more I met her before she left. It was on the Neumarkt, close to
the old Gewandhaus. I bowed stiffly and was passing on, for I had
swallowed the poker of resentment, but she stopped short and stroked my
big dog Hector, and said to him: "_You_ wish me all happiness, I am
sure, don't you? We have been friends, and we shall always remain
friends, shan't we?"

And as the dog didn't answer, I had to say, "Yes, Helene, always."

And then the poker began to lose substance, and gradually it melted
away. But it was only gradually.

It is many years ago now, but I still adhere to my original proposition,
"Helene was of a lovable type," and I am sure Leonardo da Vinci, if no
one else, would say that I am right.

I must admit, though, that shortly after that interview on the Neumarkt,
I became painfully aware that I was no