lp bursting out into a loud laugh, in spite of his melancholy
mood, at the absurdity of his dancing a fandango on the eve of
launching himself into the uncertain future of a life beyond the sea.
The sound of his voice roused old Homo, who never left him now, from
his usual half-slumberous state. The sober animal started, for a
moment, with an almost disapproving air at the internal and external
transformation that had come over Felix; then he rose slowly from his
place near the stove, walked up to his master, and rubbed his broad
nose against his hand.

"So even you are amazed, old boy," cried Felix, caressing his faithful
companion, "at my merry spirits? Come, you shall experience a still
greater miracle. I will take you with me; you are the only one of your
race on whom the gates of Paradise are not shut."

He took up a little black wood guitar, which properly belonged to his
costume, and fastened it with red ribbons on the shaggy back of the
dog, who patiently submitted to the process. Then he called his
landlady, cautioned her not to let him sleep too late the next morning,
as he must take the first train, ordered a carriage, and rolled away,
through the mild winter's night, to the English Garden, over the soft
snow that had already begun to thaw in the warm wind.

He had to pass by Irene's hotel, and he looked up at her dark windows,
and felt surprised that this parting look brought no tears to his eyes.
Indeed he felt as if he were one who had bidden farewell to life; and
only he who lives can sympathize. The dog slept patiently at his feet.
When the carriage jolted over a stone, the strings of the guitar
sounded, and the sleeping animal growled wonderingly in his dreams.

It was on the stroke of nine when the carriage drew up before the back
entrance to the little garden of Paradise. The dance was to begin at
seven, but it mattered little to Felix how much of it he missed. Not
until he found himself in the vestibule was he able, by a powerful
exertion, to shake off the depression of his spirits and steel himself
to appear cheerful. He was aided in this resolve by the sound of the
music that issued from the dancing-hall, and more especially by the
aspect of Fridolin, the janitor, who, arrayed in the most ridiculous of
costumes, played the part of warder, and permitted no one to enter who
could not prove to his satisfaction that he was one of the invited
guests. He was posted here in the character of the angel w