at least two strings."

Towards evening Wilhelm was obliged to go to the drill of the military
corps to which he belonged. His company was ordered to mount guard at the
Hoogewoort Gate. As he marched through Nobelstrasse with it, he heard the
low, clear melody of a woman's voice issuing from an open window of the
Hoogstraten mansion. He listened, and noticing with a shudder how much
Henrica's voice--for the singer must be the young lady--resembled
Isabella's, ordered the drummer to beat the drum.

The next morning a servant came from the Hoogstraten house and gave
Wilhelm a note, in which he was briefly requested to come to Nobelstrasse
at two o'clock in the afternoon, neither earlier nor later.

He did not wish to say "yes"--he could not say "no," and went to the
house at the appointed hour. Henrica was awaiting him in the little room
adjoining the hall. She looked graver than the day before, while heavier
shadows under her eyes and the deep flush on her cheeks reminded Wilhelm
of Belotti's fears for her health. After returning his greeting, she said
without circumlocution, and very rapidly:

"I must speak to you. Sit down. To be brief, the way you greeted me
yesterday awakened strange thoughts. I must strongly resemble some other
woman, and you met her in Italy. Perhaps you are reminded of some one
very near to me, of whom I have lost all trace. Answer me honestly, for I
do not ask from idle curiosity. Where did you meet her?"

"In Lugano. We drove to Milan with the same vetturino, and afterwards I
found her again in Rome and saw her daily for months."

Then you know her intimately. Do you still think the resemblance
surprising, after having seen me for the second time?"

"Very surprising."

"Then I must have a double. Is she a native of this country?"

"She called herself an Italian, but she understood Dutch, for she has
often turned the pages of my books and followed the conversation I had
with young artists from our home. I think she is a German lady of noble
family."

"An adventuress then. And her name?"

"Isabella--but I think no one would be justified in calling her an
adventuress."

"Was she married?"

"There was something matronly in her majestic appearance, yet she never
spoke of a husband. The old Italian woman, her duenna, always called her
Donna Isabella, but she possessed little more knowledge of her past than
I."

"Is that good or evil?"

"Nothing at all, Fraulein."

"And what led he