s generally
known, not by his real name, but by his official title--the precentor.
One evening the worthy precentor happened to hear light-hearted Fanny
sing the snatch of some song or other, and, surprised, connoisseur as he
was, by the music of her pretty voice, suggested that he should teach
her an air from the "Stabat Mater," that she might sing it in the choir
at church.

Teresa trembled at the thought. Matilda at once occurred to her mind;
yet, after all, it is one thing to sing frivolous love ditties on an
open stage in fancy costume, face to face with a lot of lazy young
loungers, and quite another to sing in the Church of God, behind a
closed screen, sublime and edifying hymns for the benefit of devout
worshippers, although, of course, the Evil One, who is always seeking
his prey, may find his victim in the Church of God itself. Teresa,
therefore, felt bound to allow Fanny to go to the precentor, who
instructed her with great enthusiasm, and was never weary of praising
her. The girl, indeed, rarely went there alone. Either Teresa herself,
or a worthy crony of Teresa's, Dame Kramm by name, regularly accompanied
Fanny to the precentor's dwelling, and in an hour's time returned to
fetch her away again. That the rumour of Fanny's beauty and virtue
should not have spread through the town was too much to expect. There
are always a number of unoccupied young gentlemen about, whose sole
mission in life seems to be to make such discoveries, and the number of
these pleasure-hunters was considerably increased on the occasion of
the assembling of the Diet at Pressburg, when many of our younger
conscript fathers spread the report of newly found female virtue as far
as possible. Who did not know of the Meyer girls in those days?--and
those who did, could not help knowing likewise that there was a fifth
sister. Now, where was this last little sister hiding? Why, it was the
most natural question in the world.

The girls themselves made no mystery of the matter. They explained with
whom Fanny was, and where and when she might be seen. Ah! and this was
much more than mere giddiness; it was shamelessness, jealousy, hatred!
Matilda could not forgive Fanny for avoiding her in the street, and the
others could not pardon her for possessing a treasure which they
possessed no longer--innocence! What a dish for the fine palate of a
connoisseur! What a rare fruit of paradise! A child of fifteen or
sixteen, whose diamond soul has been c