When Felix began his story he had not considered, what an injurious
morality for the poor child lay therein; he had only wished to retain
the pretty maiden by his talk. After he had once begun, he let the
affair have its own way. He must get out of it and preferred to make a
virtue of necessity; he assumed a more fatherly tone, and only when he
saw how the poor child, herself like Klytia bent her fair young head
and shivered as some delicate plant when roughly handled, did he hasten
to bring his story to its close. But suddenly Lydia drew herself up,
her small ear heard an approaching step behind the trees, she turned
towards a lofty figure, which drew near in a dignified manner, and a
betraying blush colored her cheeks. Felix recognized his brother.
"Paolo," he called out. The young Magister heartily stretched out his
hand to his long awaited brother, but Felix remarked how the burning
eyes fixed themselves over his own shoulder on the face of the fair
maiden. The young girl had in the meanwhile composed herself and
saluting the brothers with a modest bow she passed on towards the
convent. As Felix turned round to take one more look at the pretty
fugitive, he perceived that she had done the same thing, and being
caught in the act rapidly disappeared behind the bushes. Her fright had
not escaped the practised eye of the artist, and with a slight shake of
the head he entered into conversation with his brother.

Paolo who hated the high road, chose a path leading through the
vineyards, from whence a view of the plain of the blue Rhine was
obtained, and which finally led back to the Haarlass. Slowly did the
brothers proceed on their way, both tall fine-looking men. The artist
in the tight fitting costume of an Italian of that day, with the
becoming Raphael cap, the Magister in a shovel hat with drawn up brim
wearing the long robe of his profession, his fine sharp cut face
surrounded by a platelike white ruffle. "The head of John the Baptist
on a charger" involuntary thought the young artist, who nevertheless
found that Paul's clear intellectual features appeared to great
advantage out of this white Nimbus. "You carry your Nimbus round your
neck," said Felix. But Paolo did not smile. Monosyllabic and hesitating
was the information he gave. Whether he had made Profession in Venice
was not to be ascertained, whether he had bound himself over to the
Calvinists by some outward act, remained equally dark. To the question,
whethe