ing that he remained standing motionless in
the middle of the corridor, and heard and saw nothing of what was going
on around him. He was finally roused from his stupor by one of the
wedding-guests, who, in stumbling past, struck against him with no
little force. He slowly felt his way down-stairs, passed across the
lower hall, and stepped out into the open air in a truly pitiable state
of mind.

The storm had passed, but the air still trembled from the shock, and
now and then a drop fell from the roof, or the distant reflection of
the fading lightning flashed across the clear sky. The mountains stood
out on the horizon like light, sharply-defined clouds, and the
reflection of the stars danced up and down upon the waves, which seemed
to keep up the turmoil longer than anything else, and still surged
darkly on the shore.

Felix went down to the bank, and walked to the extreme end of the
landing-pier. In the commotion of his thoughts, he found it impossible
to decide as to the course he should pursue. Should he at once seek an
interview with her, and explain how it had all come about--this
inconceivable, unheard-of, unpardonable scene? That after such a
painful meeting he had not scorned to flirt with a waiter-girl; that he
intended anything rather than to play a defiant and indifferent _role_;
that only a series of most unfortunate circumstances--but how could he
explain to her what it was that had induced him to behave so tenderly
toward the poor creature? And would she listen to him at all, for that
matter? After all, it seemed as if it would be better for him to write.
But even that would only help him out of the last phase of this
serio-comic dilemma. What was to guard him from a repetition of similar
scenes, if he continued to remain anywhere near her?

He stood for a long time leaning over the railing of the bridge,
staring down into the restless, surging waves, lost in wild thoughts,
while through the open window the clarionet squeaked and the bass-viol
growled, as though there were none but happy people in all the world.

At last, making a violent effort, he roused himself. He was determined
to avoid meeting a human face at any price, and to make his way to
Starnberg on foot.

But, as he turned round, he saw behind him, planted in the middle of
the narrow way, a dark figure, which he immediately recognized as that
of Hiesl, the boatman. In his face, which he could plainly distinguish
in spite of the darknes