r
quarters together; that the visits of the _fiance_ should only take
place on certain days and in her own presence; that, for the present at
least, they would not disclose the great event even to their most
intimate friends in "Paradise"--all this and more was discussed, the
burden of the conversation falling almost entirely on Julie. A certain
lightheartedness had taken possession of her, such as her friend had
never seen her show before. She insisted upon Jansen and Angelica
taking breakfast with her, and played the part of hostess most
charmingly. Jansen followed every movement she made, as if he were
attracted by a magnet; and was caught more than once returning the most
irrelevant answers.

At last, when he really had to go--it was already past noon, but no one
had taken any heed of the time--Angelica too rose in great haste.

"I will go on ahead," said she; "lovers don't go through with their
leave-takings quite as quickly as we single people."

But Julie detained her. She merely gave Jansen her hand to kiss, and
closed the door behind him. Then she fell on her friend's neck and
kissed her, her eyes overflowing with tears.

"Forgive me my happiness!" she whispered. "It is so great I am almost
afraid of it, as though I had stolen a crown!"

"What a child you are!" said the artist, bending over her and blushing.
"I told you how it would be--though really I was not so reckless as you
have been. To love this man just as one would any ordinary mortal, to
take him to your heart in this sudden fashion--well, I must say, I
admire your courage. It is true you are a perfectly charming piece of
human nature, from top to toe, and can do things other folks can't.
Now, such miserable institutions as we common people are, mere images
of God in _gouache_ or water-color--well, we have to be sensible, at
all hazards, unless we would bring down ridicule as well as injury upon
our heads. _Addio, cara! Iddio ti benedica!_" and with these words she
rushed out of the door.

CHAPTER III.

It was close upon midnight when Rosenbusch, with a heavy sigh, shut the
little sketch-book in which he had been scribbling verses on the empty
leaves between portraits of horses' heads and studies of costumes and
armor, and proceeded to drink off the last drops of his red Wuertemberg
wine. For more than three hours he had been sitting in the same place
in the corner of a quiet little beer-house, where few o