and
punctuality, and a striking contrast to Fink, who horrified the
dancing-master by declaring that the _galop_ step was fitted for every
and all dances alike, and by waltzing in the most eccentric orbits
conceivable.

The fact was, Anton was so happy that his transfigured aspect struck
both the young and the old ladies, confirming the former in their
conviction that he was good and true-hearted, and the latter in theirs,
that he was a prince in disguise. He himself best knew the secret of his
bliss. Every thought of his loyal heart revolved around its absolute
mistress. All dances or conversations with others he looked upon as
more flourishes surrounding her name; neither was he without his
reward. She soon treated him like an old friend; and, whenever she
entered the room, it was not till she had discovered his brown curls
among the circle that she felt at home in the brilliant assembly.

It is, however, a melancholy fact, that destiny never long permits a
child of earth to feel his whole nature and circumstances strung up to
their utmost sweetness and power. It invariably contrives to let down
some string while winding up another. Hence arises a discord, such as
Anton was now called upon to experience.

It was plain that the gentlemen of the counting-house looked with
critical eye upon the change in his way of life. There existed every
possible diversity among them, it is true; but all were unanimous in
pronouncing that, since he had attended these dancing-lessons, our hero
had greatly changed for the worse. They declared that his increased
silence was pride, his frequent absences in an evening tokens of
unbecoming levity; and he who had once been a universal favorite was now
in danger of being universally condemned. He himself considered the
colder bearing of his colleagues very unkind; and so it came to pass
that, for several weeks, he lived almost exclusively with Fink, and that
the two formed, as it were, an aristocratic section in opposition to the
rest.

Anton was more depressed by this state of things than he chose to
confess: he felt it every where--at his desk, in his room, nay, even at
dinner. If Jordan wanted a commission executed, it was no longer to him,
but to Baumann, that he turned; when Purzel, the cashier, came into the
office, he no longer accepted Anton's seat; and though Specht addressed
him oftener than ever, it was no comfort to have questions like these
whispered in his ear, "Is it true