ly the father's. Thus an exchange in the
house, a little intermezzo, which naturally, from its insignificance,
was momentarily forgotten by all except the parties concerned, for to
them it was an important moment in their lives; and to us also, as we
shall see, an event of importance, which has occasioned us to linger
thus long in this circle. In an adjoining room will we, unseen spirits,
watch the father and son. They are alone; the family is already in the
theatre. We may, indeed, watch them--they are true moralists. It is only
a moral drawn from a hat.

But the father's eyes rolled, his cheeks glowed, his words were
sword-strokes, and must make an impression on any disposition as gentle
as his son's; but the son stood quiet, with a firm look and with a
smile on his lips, such as the moral bestows. "You were in the adjoining
room!" said he. "Where it is proper for you to be there may I also
come."

"Boy!" cried the father, and named the place, but we know it not;
neither know we its inhabitants. Victor Hugo includes them in his
"Children's Prayer," in his beautiful poem, "La Priere pour Tous." The
child prays for all, even "for those who sell the sweet name of love."

[Note: "Prie!... Pour les femmes echevelees Qui vendent
le doux nom d'amour!"]

"Let us be silent with each other!" said the son. "I am acquainted with
many histories. I know another of the pretty Eva!"--

"Eva!" repeated the father.

We will hear no more! It is not proper to listen. We see the father
and son extend their hands. It appeared a scene of reconciliation. They
parted: the father goes to his business, and Hans Peter to the
theatre, to anger himself over the immorality in the second act of the
"Somnambule."

CHAPTER XXIV

"L'amour est pour les coeurs,
Ce que l'aurore est pour les fleurs,
Et le printemps pour la nature."--VIGUE.

"Love is a childish disease and like the small-pox. Some
die, some become deformed, others are more or less scarred,
while upon others the disease does not leave any visible
trace."--The Alchemist, by C. HAUCH.

"Be candid, Otto!" said Wilhelm, as he one day visited his friend. "You
cannot make up your mind to say thou to me; therefore let it be. We are,
after all, good friends. It is only a form; although you must grant that
in this respect you are really a great fool."

Otto now explained what an extraordinary aversion he had felt, what a
painful feelin