isms upon different parts, censuring
especially the imitation of Immermann's "Merlin." Elfinger defended the
poem, and the dispute had begun to run in danger of becoming heated,
when the door was thrown open and Rosenbusch rushed in in a state of
great excitement.

"Treachery!" he cried; "black, villainous treachery! Hell sends forth
its spies to ferret out the secrets of Paradise! The veil of night is
no longer sacred; profane curiosity is plucking at the curtain of our
mysteries--and, by-the-way, give me something to drink!"

All pressed around the breathless speaker, who had thrown himself into
a chair, refusing, however, in spite of the confusion of questions and
suggestions that went on about him, to give any explanation whatever
until he had moistened his thirsty throat. Not until he had done this
to the most liberal extent did he begin to relate his adventure.

After his assistance behind the scenes was no longer needed, he had
swung himself out of one of the windows of the central hall into the
cool garden, in order to refresh himself a little in the night air. So
he strolled comfortably up and down under the trees, studying the
clouds and occasionally playing a few snatches on his flute, until he
at last experienced a most remarkable thirst. As he was slowly walking
around the house, with the intention of rejoining the company by way of
the back-door, he suddenly beheld two suspicious-looking figures,
women, in long dark cloaks and with hoods or veils over their heads,
who stood at one of the windows intently peering in through a crack in
the shutters. He tried to surprise them, and catch them _in flagrante
delicto_. But, stealthily as he crept upon them, the crunching of the
gravel had betrayed him. They both immediately rushed away from the
window and fled in the direction of the gate, he after them like
lightning, all the more eagerly because he saw a carriage waiting
outside in the street. And sure enough, he succeeded in catching one of
them by the sleeve, just as she reached the lattice-gate--the stouter
one, who carried something under her cloak which hindered her in
running. The prisoner besought him, in a frightened but evidently
disguised voice, to let her go--she had done no harm, a mere chance,
and other excuses of a like sort. He, on his part, excited by anger and
indignation, and not a little by curiosity, would not let go, but
insisted upon learning their names; the cloak, that he held firmly,