the town-clerk
was always called Peter by his old friend. Linda spoke not a word of
answer to her lover's salutation.

"It has been a beautiful summer day," said Peter.

"A lovely day," said Madame Staubach, "through the Lord's favour to
us."

"Has the fraulein been out?" asked Peter.

"No; I have not been out," said Linda, almost savagely.

"I will go and leave you together," said Madame Staubach, getting up
from her chair.

"No, aunt, no," said Linda. "Don't go away; pray, do not go away."

"It is fitting that I should do so," said Madame Staubach, as with
one hand she gently pushed back Linda, who was pressing to the door
after her. "You will stay, Linda, and hear what our friend will say;
and remember, Linda, that he speaks with my authority and with my
heartfelt prayer that he may prevail."

"He will never prevail," said Linda. But neither Madame Staubach nor
Peter Steinmarc heard what she said.

Linda had already perceived, perturbed as she was in her mind, that
Herr Steinmarc had prepared himself carefully for this interview.
He had brought a hat with him into the room, but it was not the hat
which had so long been distasteful to her. And he had got on clean
bright shoes, as large indeed as the old dirty ones, because Herr
Steinmarc was not a man to sacrifice his corns for love; but still
shoes that were decidedly intended to be worn only on occasions. And
he had changed his ordinary woollen shirt for white linen, and had
taken out his new brown frock-coat which he always wore on those high
days in Nuremberg on which the magistrates appeared with their civic
collars. But, perhaps, the effect which Linda noted most keenly was
the debonair fashion in which the straggling hairs had been disposed
over the bald pate. For a moment or two a stranger might almost have
believed that the pate was not bald.

"My dear young friend," began the town-clerk, "your aunt has, I
think, spoken to you of my wishes." Linda muttered something, she
knew not what. But though her words were not intelligible, her looks
were so, and were not of a kind to have been naturally conducive
to much hope in the bosom of Herr Steinmarc. "Of course, I can
understand, Linda, how much this must have taken you by surprise
at first. But that surprise will wear off, and I trust that
you may gradually come to regard me as your future husband
without--without--without anything like fear, you know, or feelings
of that kind." Still she did not