ould notice how quiet I kept. It's because I am afraid of her."

Frau Schmidt, who had at first objected so strongly to the advent of the
child, was now devoted to it, and would have resented exceedingly the
idea of allowing any one but herself to put it to bed, dress or undress
it, or look after it in general. This state of things had crept on very
gradually; she had never said how fond she was of the child, but put
her kindness upon the ground that as a Christian woman she could not
stand by and see it mishandled by a couple of _men_, and oh! the
unutterable contempt upon the word "men." Under this disguise she
attempted to cover the fact that she delighted to have it with her, to
kiss it, fondle it, admire it, and "do for it." We knew now that no
sooner had we left the house than the child would be brought down, and
would never leave the care of Frau Schmidt until our return, or until he
was in bed and asleep. She said he was a quiet child, and "did not give
so much trouble." Indeed, the little fellow won a friend in whoever saw
him. He had made another conquest to-night. Karl Linders, after puffing
away for some time, inquired, with an affectation of indifference:

"How old is he--_der kleine Bengel_?"

"Two--a little more."

"Handsome little fellow!"

"Glad you think so."

"Sure of it. But I didn't know, Courvoisier--so sure as I live, I knew
nothing about it!"

"I dare say not. Did I ever say you did?"

I saw that Karl wished to ask another question; one which had trembled
upon my own lips many a time, but which I had never asked--which I knew
that I never should ask. "The mother of that child--is she alive or
dead? Why may we never hear one word of her? Why this silence, as of the
grave? Was she your wife? Did you love her? Did she love you?"

Questions which could not fail to come to me, and about which my
thoughts would hang for hours. I could imagine a woman being very deeply
in love with Courvoisier. Whether he would love very deeply himself,
whether love would form a mainspring of his life and actions, or whether
it took only a secondary place--I speak of the love of woman--I could
not guess. I could decide upon many points of his character. He was a
good friend, a high-minded and a pure-minded man; his every-day life,
the turn of his thoughts and conversation, showed me that as plainly as
any great adventure could have done. That he was an ardent musician, an
artist in the truest and deepest sense