terre window _did_. After dinner I again sought out this fascinating
window, but, instead of a maiden, I beheld a glass containing white
bellflowers. I clambered up, stole the flowers, put them quietly in my
cap, and descended, unheeding the gaping mouths, petrified noses, and
goggle eyes, with which the people in the street, and especially the old
women, regarded this qualified theft. As I, an hour later, passed by the
same house, the beauty stood by the window, and, as she saw the flowers
in my cap, she blushed like a ruby and started back. This time I had
seen the beautiful face to better advantage; it was a sweet, transparent
incarnation of summer-evening breeze, moonshine, nightingale notes, and
rose perfume. Later, in the twilight hour, she was standing at the door.
I came--I drew near--she slowly retreated into the dark entry. I
followed, and, seizing her hand, said, "I am a lover of beautiful
flowers and of kisses, and when they are not given to me I steal them."
Here I quickly snatched a kiss, and, as she was about to flee, whispered
soothingly, "Tomorrow I leave this town, probably never to return." Then
I perceived a faint pressure of the lovely lips and of the little hand
and I--hurried smilingly away. Yes, I must smile when I reflect that
unconsciously I uttered the magic formula by which our red-and
blue-coated cavaliers more frequently win female hearts than by their
mustachioed attractiveness--"Tomorrow I leave, probably never to
return."

* * * * *

During the night which I passed at Goslar, a remarkably curious
occurrence befell me. Even now I cannot think of it without terror. I am
not cowardly by nature and Heaven knows that I have never experienced
any special anguish when, for example, a naked blade has sought to make
acquaintance with my nose or when I have lost my way at night in a wood
of ill repute, or when, at a concert, a yawning lieutenant has
threatened to swallow me--but _ghosts_ I fear almost as much as the
_Austrian Observer_[52]. What is fear? Does it originate in the brain or
in the emotions? This was a point which I frequently disputed with Dr.
Saul Ascher, when we accidentally met in the Cafe Royal in Berlin, where
for a long time I used to take dinner. The Doctor invariably maintained
that we feared anything, because we recognized it as fearful, by a
certain process of reasoning, for reason alone is an active power--the
emotions are not. While I ate a