ome on, then. But listen, we must play
Gochhausen a trick; I have promised her a surprise. Will you help me,
Wolf?"

"With pleasure, duke."

"I have thought of something very droll, and your servant Philip must
help us; he is a clever fellow, and can keep his own counsel."

"He is silent as the grave, duke."

"That is necessary for such a gentleman as the women all run after. Let
us skip down the mountain, and then forward where our hearts incline us.
This afternoon I will go for you and bring you to Belvedere, and then
we can talk over the surprise." They ran down the declivity into the
suburb, to the terror of the good people, who looked after them,
saying that the young duke had returned with his mad protege. The "mad
favorite" seemed more crazy than ever to-day, for after a brief farewell
to the duke, he bounded through the streets across the English park, to
the loved house, the roof of which he had so longingly greeted from the
hillside. The door stood open, as is customary in small towns, and the
servant in the vestibule came to meet him, and respectfully announced
that her master had gone to his estate at Hochberg, but that Frau von
Stein was most probably in the pavilion, in the garden, as she had
gone thither with her guitar. "Is she alone?" asked Goethe. The
servant answered in the affirmative, and through the court hastened the
lover--not through the principal entrance, as he would surprise her, and
read in her sweet face whether she thought of him. Softly he opened the
little garden gate, and approached the pavilion by a side-alley. Do his
feet touch the ground, or float over it? He knew not; he heard music,
accompanied by a sweet, melodious voice. It was Charlotte's. Goethe's
face beamed with delight and happiness. He gazed at her unseen, not
alone with his eyes, but heart and soul went forth to her. She sat
sideways to the door; upon a table lay her notes, and the guitar rested
upon her arm. She sang, in a rich, sweet voice, Reinhardt's beautiful
melody:

"I'd rather fight my way through sorrows Than bear so many joys in
life; All this affinity of heart to heart, How strangely it causes us to
suffer!"

She ceased, as if overpowered with her own thoughts, the guitar sank
upon her lap, and her fingers glided over the chords, so that the tones
died away imperceptibly. Her deep-blue eyes gazed pensively in the
distance, and the sweet lips repeated softly, "How strangely it causes
us to suffer!" Near t