ed artist, and approached
one of the young ladies with the question whether she too did not find
it very warm.

Rosenbusch gazed upon her with open mouth. A suspicion dawned in his
innocent brain that perhaps his conversation had appeared rather too
free-and-easy to this young lady. He could not understand this, and
laid it to the score of her North German education. He had talked in a
similar way with his countrywomen at balls, without arousing any
special displeasure. Now he slunk pensively away from the flower-stand,
just as a promising amateur began to perform one of Bach's preludes.
Slipping quietly along, and keeping close to the wall, he succeeded in
reaching the adjoining room, which was dimly lighted, without
attracting attention. A lady's-maid had been making tea there. The
national samovar was still singing on the little table, as though
secretly accompanying the playing outside. But in the doorway stood
Felix, his gaze, piercing through all the crowd and confusion, fixed
upon one particular spot.

He started as the battle-painter's hand was laid softly on his
shoulder, and scowled angrily. Rosenbusch thought he did not wish to be
disturbed while listening to the music, and kept as still as a mouse as
long as the prelude lasted. He himself did not care for Bach. He was,
as he expressed it, too "cyclopean" for him. He preferred something
melting or merry. So he spent the time in looking about the room, and
was astonished to see on an easel near the window, in a sufficiently
good light to attract attention, that cartoon of the Bride of Corinth
which had brought so little honor to Stephanopulos in "Paradise." The
burned corner had not yet been repaired, so that the singular picture
made a still more weird impression among its elegant surroundings.

How came it here? Who could have brought it to the countess? Could it
be that the young sinner himself had lent a helping hand in getting it
for her? His name stood in the corner that had been spared by the fire.
It was possible that the honest finder, whom Rosenbusch caught _in
flagranti_ that night in the "Paradise" garden, had returned it to the
artist; that the countess had seen it in his studio, and thought that
it would be piquant to exhibit a drawing in her house which had been
condemned by the male critics on account of its lack of modesty. Oh,
these countesses!--these Russians!

The door leading to a third room was also standing open--to no less
a sanctu