en was the instrument used to lead me into the
path allotted, for when the wound healed and the handkerchief which
Clara's mother had tied round it came back from the wash, I was
uncertain whether to return it in person or send it by a messenger with
a few words of thanks. I determined on the latter course; but when, that
same evening, I saw Clara looking so pretty as the youthful Richelieu,
I cast aside my first resolve, and the next day at dusk went to call on
the mother of the charming actress. I should scarcely have ventured
to do so in broad daylight, for Herr Ebeling, our zealous religious
instructor, lived directly opposite.

The danger, however, merely gave the venture an added zest and, ere
I was aware of it I was standing in the large and pretty sitting-room
occupied by the mother and daughter.

It was a disappointment not to meet the latter, yet I felt a certain
sense of relief. Fate intended to let me escape the storm uninjured,
for my heart had been by no means calm since I mounted the narrow stairs
leading to the apartments of the fair actress. But just as I was taking
leave the pavement echoed with the noise of hoofs and the rattle of
wheels. Prince Puckler's coupe stopped in front of the house and the
young girl descended the steps.

She entered the room laughing merrily, but when she saw me she became
graver, and looked at her mother in surprise.

A brief explanation, the cry, "Oh, you are the man who was hurt!" and
then the proof that the room did not owe its neat appearance to her, for
her cloak flew one way, her hat another, and her gloves a third. After
this disrobing she stood before me in the costume of the youthful
Richelieu, so bewitchingly charming, so gay and bright, that I could not
restrain my delight.

She had come from old Prince Puckler, who, as he never visited the
theatre in the city, wished to see her in the costume whose beauty had
been so much praised. The vigorous, gay old gentleman had charmed her,
and she declared that she liked him far better than any of the young
men. But as she knew little of his former life and works, I told her of
his foolish pranks and chivalrous deeds.

It seemed as if her presence increased my powers of description, and
when I at last took leave she exclaimed: "You'll come again, won't you?
After one has finished one's part, it's the best time to talk."

Did I wait to be asked a second time? Oh, no! Even had I not been the
"foolhardy Ebers," I shou