I felt so--frightened out of my
senses. I came tremulously forward, and offering my pieces of silver,
said, in the smallest voice which I had ever used:

"I have come to pay my debt. I did not know where you lived, or I should
have done it long before."

He made no motion to take the money, but said--I almost started, so
altered was the voice from that of my frank companion at Koeln, to an icy
coldness of ceremony:

"_Mein Fraeulein_, I do not understand."

"You--you--the things you paid for. Do you not remember me?"

"Remember a lady who has intimated that she wishes me to forget her? No,
I do not."

What a horribly complicated revenge! thought I, as I said, ever lower
and lower, more and more shamedfacedly, while the young violinist sat
with the child on his knee, and his soft brown eyes staring at me in
wonder:

"I think you must remember. You helped me at Koeln, and you paid for my
ticket to Elberthal, and for something that I had at the hotel. You told
me that was what I owed you."

I again tendered the money; again he made no effort to receive it, but
said:

"I am sorry that I do not understand to what you refer. I only know it
is impossible that I could ever have told you you owed me three thalers,
or three anything, or that there could, under any circumstances, be any
question of money between you and me. Suppose we consider the topic at
an end."

Such a voice of ice, and such a manner, to chill the boldest heart, I
had never yet encountered. The cool, unspeakable disdain cut me to the
quick.

"You have no right to refuse the money," said I, desperately. "You have
no right to insult me by--by--" An appropriate peroration refused
itself.

Again the sweet, proud, courteous smile; not only courteous, but
courtly; again the icy little bow of the head, which would have done
credit to a prince in displeasure, and which yet had the deference due
from a gentleman to a lady.

"You will excuse the semblance of rudeness which may appear if I say
that if you unfortunately are not of a very decided disposition, I am.
It is impossible that I should ever have the slightest intercourse with
a lady who has once unequivocally refused my acquaintance. The lady may
honor me by changing her mind; I am sorry that I can not respond. I do
not change my mind."

"You must let us part on equal terms," I reiterated. "It is unjust--"

"Yourself closed all possibility of the faintest attempt at further
acquaintance, _me