at respect had the
situation been changed by his adventure? Altogether to his advantage? A
life and death struggle with a boatman about a waiter-girl! Surely a
dubious test, that, of the correctness of his principles regarding
looseness and freedom of morals; a new proof of how correctly she had
acted when, with a single sharp cut, she severed her life from his. And
now, under what pretext could he give her an explanation of the real
origin of the whole affair? And what further interest could she take in
the doings of one whom she had wholly given up? What did it concern her
whether, in pursuing his own wild courses, he showed himself more or
less unworthy of her?

But the pride which rebelled against making any overtures secretly
gnawed at his heart. More than once, after the wound in his hand
permitted him to scribble a few letters, he had sat down to write to
her uncle. In doing so, he could certainly put in a word in explanation
of the very innocent occasion of his bloody adventure. But in the midst
of his writing it would seem to him as if, according to the old saying,
he were making the evil worse with every excuse. And then, could he
ever hope to explain away that sin--which was in her eyes the
heaviest--his dancing with the girl?

So he tore up the letters he had begun, and, gnashing his teeth,
resigned himself to the fate of suffering unjustly, and being better
than he seemed.

But one day when, by some chance or other, he found himself sitting
alone on a bench in the garden with none of his watchers near--for they
took care to keep him out of the reach of all conversation--he saw,
with a glad throb at heart, her uncle gallop up and gleefully wave his
hand to him over the park-gate. He stood up, and, with a faint blush,
half of weakness, half of confusion, advanced several steps to meet the
well-known face.

The lively old gentleman rushed upon him, and embraced him so cordially
that Felix had to smilingly beg for forbearance, on account of his
scarcely-healed wounds. Whereupon the uncle excused himself in great
alarm, and, carefully supporting the patient, led him back to the
bench, where he asked him, with the most candid curiosity, for all the
particulars of the unfortunate occurrence.

"A blessed land, this Bavaria!" he cried, rubbing his hands. "Upon my
word, there is no need for a man to go beyond the 'Pillars of
Hercules,' or among the red-skins: he can have plenty of slaughter
nearer home, in his