the orchestra turned into the piping of Pan, while Webster
and Forster, the heavy fumes, the air vitiated by the exhalations of five
thousand people no longer existed. The pure breath of spring was rustling
in the pines. The shepherdess was dancing as she had learned to dance
from the droll caperings of the goats or, by natural inheritance, from
great Pan himself. It was a dance of young, wild, bubbling joy in life.

"The origin of all music," thought Frederick, "is dance and song in one
and the same person. The feet compel the rhythm that the throat voices;
and if the dancer herself does not sing, she hears music different from
the music to which she is dancing, and if she dances without an
accompaniment, we who behold her hear her music nevertheless. The
melodies I hear in this girl's dancing are comparable in their bucolic
innocence to the things of the same sort that Mozart, Beethoven and
Schubert wrote. They have exorcised the vulgar muse from this vulgar
place, banishing her to a remote distance."

The dancer was a Spaniard. She made little leaps in the air and tossed
her head archly, as if for her own joy, unconscious both of the audience
and the toreador, who sometimes picked her up and held her aloft. Her
dancing was innocent, entirely free from sensuality. At the conclusion of
her performance, Frederick and his friends clapped madly, while the vast
audience gave very scanty signs of applause.

"Caviar to the general," said Frederick.

When she disappeared in the wings, a lackey in red livery stepped on the
stage and set a number of small seats at regular distances from one
another. It was not until he had left and returned again with a pea-rifle
and a violin that Frederick recognised the brave private, Bulke. The next
moment Stoss appeared. A frantic outburst of delight, threatening never
to end, greeted him. He wore a jacket and knee-breeches of black velvet,
a lace jabot, lace cuffs, black silk stockings, and buckled pumps of
patent leather. His yellowish hair was brushed straight up all around his
large head. His pale face, with its broad cheek bones and broad flat
nose, was turned to the audience with a professional smile. The applause
refused to end, and the armless trunk made a moderately profound bow.

Frederick saw the same man helpless, drenched with water, crouching
under the seats of the life-boat; and he recalled with what murderous
determination the sailors, Bulke, Doctor Wilhelm, and he himsel