ast, however, she made a
movement as though she would stand up. In doing so, her little book
slipped from the slanting rack and fell between her and her chivalrous
neighbor. She stooped down hastily to pick it up, and, as he could not
help doing likewise, nothing was more natural than that their faces
should approach near enough, there in the darkness, for him to impress
a hasty kiss on the girl's round cheek. She did not even seem to be
conscious of what had occurred.

"Thank you," she whispered as she rose up again, holding the book he
had officiously handed her. "Goodnight--but you mustn't follow us!"

She said this in a tone which made it very doubtful whether she meant
it seriously. At the same time she rose from the stool and hurried to
her sister, who stood waiting for her, with downcast eyes, near the
holy-water basin.

The two slim figures reverently bent the knee before the principal
altar, sprinkled themselves again with the holy-water, and left the
little church in the same manner as they had come, deeply veiled and
carrying their prayer-books before them in their hands.

Five minutes after, Rosenbusch might have been seen stepping out of the
porch, arm-in-arm with the actor. The battle-painter threw the only
sixpence he had about him into a lame beggar's hat.

"Holy Mother!" he cried, "life is splendid, after all, in spite of
leather-glove-makers."

"Where shall we go?" asked his gloomy friend, whose spirits had been
completely crushed by the "secret" of his sweetheart.

"To the tower of St. Peter's, noble Roscius! I must get acquainted with
the warden this very evening, and take a look at the arrangement of the
place. One can never know what devilish queer adventures one may
encounter, when it would be very useful to have such high friends and
patrons."

CHAPTER V.

Early on the morning following their nocturnal encounter, Felix sought
out the lieutenant; he could not rest without trying to find out
whether it was not an illusion of his senses which made him think he
saw Irene's uncle riding at his friend's side. Schnetz lived in the top
story of a dismal old house whose winding stairway was but dimly
illuminated by a faint stream of light proceeding from a dingy skylight
covered with dust and cobwebs. A woman, too refined-looking to be a
servant, and, on the other hand, too modest in her behavior to be a
housekeeper, opened the door for the strange visitor