yet been
prepared for frescoing, but still wore their old stone-gray tint, he
had, by way of experiment, set to work to draw with charcoal an
architectural frame for his cycle of pictures--a row of round-arched
arcades with sturdy Romanesque pillars, resting upon bases connected by
a plain foundation. There were just the same number of arches as the
Venus legend contained separate scenes, and the panels in the spandrils
over the pillars were to contain the portraits of the friends who had
assembled under this roof. This portrait-gallery was begun with the
beautiful head of Jansen's betrothed, who was certainly well fitted to
contest the first rank with Dame Venus (as the latter had been depicted
by Kohle's fancy, at least), while at the end of the row, the round,
good-natured face of Angelica, with its merry, flowing curls, peered
forth in all its plainness. Zenz and old Katie were to be immortalized
among the people in the convents.

Kohle had traced the outlines of the decoration with a bold hand, and
had even allowed himself to be so carried away by his delight as to
begin to fill in the first panel with its whole sketch; for he was
anxious to convince the ever skeptical and critical Rossel how
excellently it would fit into the space allotted to it. But he was
suddenly interrupted by an unexpected visit.

In looking back to that first evening in Paradise, the indulgent reader
may perhaps find some difficulty in recalling a modest figure that took
small part in the bacchanalian excitement of the younger members, and
made no noise himself. But, even if the old man with the calm face and
snow-white hair should be still unforgotten, the figure that now came
tottering into the little hall with unsteady walk, agitated face, and
an old straw hat stuck on the side of his head like a drunken man's,
would find no recognition.

"For God's sake, Herr Schoepf, what's happened to you?" cried the
painter, as he threw aside his crayon. "You look terribly! Do tell
me--"

The old man threw himself on the nearest divan, and gasped as though
compelled to draw his breath from some deep well.

"Is it you, Herr Kohle?" he finally stammered out with much difficulty;
"I sincerely beg your forgiveness for bursting in on you in this way,
without being announced--but don't let me disturb you. Once more I beg
you to excuse me; but there are times when all one's good manners--no,
no, I won't drink anything," he cried, interrupting himself,