. In
my sleepless nights, and on lonely walks, I used to spin the wildest
and most ingenious romances, in which, of course, the unknown lover and
I myself played the leading parts. No scenes were too improbable to be
introduced into these imaginary dramas of mine, and I was immensely
delighted with myself in my character of the hero, resigned to suffer a
hopeless passion. As I have said, I went all over the town, in the most
senseless manner, searching for her who ruled my thoughts and my whole
being. Very well; one forenoon, I found myself in the new street called
"Green Street;" and, as I was strolling along there, deep in thought,
a young gentleman stopped me, took off his hat politely, and asked if I
could tell him where Mr. Asling, the Geheime Rath, lived in that
street. I said I could not. But the name "Asling" struck me, somehow.
"Asling? Asling?" I said to myself. Then, all at once I remembered that
my romantic passion had so occupied my head that I had forgotten all
about a letter for this very Mr. Asling, which a nephew of his (whom I
had left, wounded, in hospital at Deutz) had given me to deliver to
him. I determined to atone for this unpardonable oversight at once. I
saw that a shopkeeper directed the young gentleman to a fine-looking
house just over the way, and I followed him. I was shown into an
anteroom, and the servant begged me to wait there a few minutes, his
master being engaged with a strange gentleman. He left me alone there,
and I was glancing carelessly at the engravings on the wall, when the
door behind me opened, I turned round, and saw _her_! her very self,
the beautiful creature whom we saw in the Thiergarten. I really cannot
describe to you with any clearness what my feelings were, but I know I
could scarcely breathe, couldn't utter a syllable, and felt ready to
fall down at the angel's feet.'

"Ay, ay!' said Alexander, rather astonished; 'then you were really very
seriously in love with her, old fellow?'

"'At all events,' continued Marzell, 'my feelings at that moment were
those of the wildest devotion. My state of consternation and
speechlessness must have been queer enough to see, for Pauline looked
at me as if she were considerably alarmed; and as I couldn't utter a
syllable, and she very naturally thought I must be either a bumpkin or
a born idiot, she said at last, with a delicate smile of irony just
fluttering over her lips, "You're waiting to see my father, are you
not?" The bitt