ave me a sign of approval when I had finished, but it was
a mechanical one. He was thinking of other things.

The probe was over. I walked slowly down the room looking for Anna
Sartorius, more out of politeness than because I wished for her company.
I was relieved to find that she had already gone, probably not finding
all the entertainment she expected, and I was able, with a good
conscience, to take my way home alone.

My way home! not yet. I was to live through something before I could
take my way home.

I went out of the large saal through the long veranda into the street. A
flood of moonlight silvered it. There was a laughing, chattering crowd
about me--all the chorus; men and girls, going to their homes or their
lodgings, in ones or twos, or in large cheerful groups. Almost opposite
the Tonhalle was a tall house, one of a row, and of this house the
lowest floor was used as a shop for antiquities, curiosities, and a
thousand odds and ends useful or beautiful to artists, costumes, suits
of armor, old china, anything and everything. The window was yet
lighted. As I paused for a moment before taking my homeward way, I saw
two men cross the moonlit street and go in at the open door of the shop.
One was Courvoisier; in the other I thought to recognize Friedhelm
Helfen, but was not quite sure about it. They did not go into the shop,
as I saw by the bright large lamp that burned within, but along the
passage and up the stairs. I followed them, resolutely beating down
shyness, unwillingness, timidity. My reluctant steps took me to the
window of the antiquity shop, and I stood looking in before I could make
up my mind to enter. Bits of rococo ware stood in the window, majolica
jugs, chased metal dishes and bowls, bits of Renaissance work, tapestry,
carpet, a helm with the vizor up, gaping at me as if tired of being
there. I slowly drew my purse from my pocket, put together three
thalers and a ten groschen piece, and with lingering, unwilling steps,
entered the shop. A pretty young woman in a quaint dress, which somehow
harmonized with the place, came forward. She looked at me as if
wondering what I could possibly want. My very agitation gave calmness to
my voice as I inquired,

"Does Herr Courvoisier, a musiker, live here?"

"_Ja wohl!_" answered the young woman, with a look of still greater
surprise. "On the third _etage_, straight upstairs. The name is on the
door."

I turned away, and went slowly up the steep wood