her, and it is
scarcely doubtful that in his present judgment the splendor of the
rostrum was eclipsed. Frank sat silent, observing. He scarcely joined
in the conversation, which his friend conducted with great warmth.

"This occurrence," said Lutz, on his way home, "appears to me like an
episode from the land of fables and wonders. First, the steer fight;
then the overcoming of the beast by a maiden; lastly, a maid of such
beauty that all the fair ones of romance are thrown in the shade. By
heaven, I must call all my learning to my aid in order to be able to
forget her and not fall in love up to the ears!"

Frank said nothing.

"And you did not even thank her!" said Lutz vehemently. "Your conduct
was more than ungallant. I do not understand you."

"Nothing without reason," said Frank.

"No matter! Your conduct cannot be justified," growled the professor.
"I would like to know the reason that prevented you from thanking your
preserver for your life?"

Richard stopped, looked quietly into the glowing countenance of his
friend, and proceeded doubtingly,

"You shall know all, and then judge if my offensive conduct is not
pardonable."

He began to relate how he met Angela for the first time on the lonely
road in the forest, how she then made a deep impression on him, what he
learned of her from the poor man and from Klingenberg, and how his
opinion of womankind had been shaken by Angela; then he spoke of his
object in visiting the Siegwart family, of his observations and
experience.

"I had about come to the conclusion, and the occurrence of to-day
realizes that conclusion, that Angela possesses that admirable virtue
which, until now, I believed only to exist in the ideal world. If there
is a spark of vanity in her, I must have offended her. She must have
looked resentfully at me, the ungrateful man, and treated me sulkily.
But such was not the case; her eyes rested on me with the same
clearness and kindness as ever. My coarse unthankfulness did not offend
her, because she does not think much of herself, because she makes no
pretensions, because she does not know her great excellence, but
considers her little human weaknesses in the light of religious
perfection--in short, because she is truly humble. She will bury this
dauntless deed in forgetfulness. She does not wish the little and great
journals to bring her courage into publicity. Tell me a woman, or even
a man, who could be capable of such modesty? Who wou