."

"You needn't say it to all Forstadt. You haven't even said it to me
yet."

We had been sitting together. Again I fell on one knee, prepared to
offer her formal homage in a sweet extravagance. On a sudden she raised
her hand; her face grew alarmed.

"Hark!" she said. "Hark!"

"To your voice, yours only!"

"No. There is a noise. Somebody is coming. Who can it be?"

"I don't care who it is."

"Why, dearest! But you must care. Get up, get up, get up!"

I rose slowly to my feet. I was indeed in a mood when I did not care.
The steps were close outside. Before they could come nearer, I kissed
her again.

"Who can it be? I am denied to everybody," she said, bewildered.

There was a knock at the door.

"It is not Max," she said, with a swift glance at me. I stood where I
was. "Come in," she cried.

The door opened, and to my amazement Wetter stood there. He was panting,
as though he had run fast, and his air displayed agitation. The Countess
ran to him instantly. His coming seemed to revive the fears which her
love had laid to rest.

"What is it?" she cried. "What's the matter?"

Wetter took absolutely no notice of her. Walking on as though she were
not there, he came straight up to me. He spoke in tones of intense
emotion, and with the bluntness that excitement brings.

"You must come with me at once," he said in an imperious way. "They've
sent for you to my house; we can get in together by the back door."

"But what's the matter, man?" I cried, divided between puzzle and anger.

"You're wanted; you must go to Hammerfeldt's."

"To Hammerfeldt's?"

"Yes. He's dying. Come along."

"Dying! My God!"

"The message is urgent. There's no time to lose. If you want to see him
alive, come. I said you were lying down in my study. If you don't come
quickly, it will be known where you are."

"I don't care for that."

"He's sent for you himself."

The Countess had moved to my side.

"You must go," she said now, laying her hand on my arm.

I turned to look at her. Her eyes were full of a vague alarm. I was like
a man suddenly roused half-way through a vivid entrancing dream, unable
still to believe that the real is true and the phantasm not the only
substance.

"Come, come," repeated Wetter urgently and irritably. "You can't let him
die without going to him."

"Go, Augustin," she whispered.

"Yes, I'll go. I'm going; I'm going at once," I stammered. "I'm ready,
Wetter. Take me with you. Is he really