I went upstairs, and, by a natural instinct, to the window. Those facing it were open; some one moved in the room. Two chords of a piano were struck. Some one came and stood by the window, shielded her eyes from the rays of the setting sun which streamed down the street and looked westward. Eugen was passing behind me. I pulled him to the window, and we both looked--silently, gravely.
The girl dropped her hand; her eyes fell upon us. The color mounted to her cheek; she turned away and went to the interior of the room. It was May Wedderburn.
"Also!" said Eugen, after a pause. "A new neighbor; it reminds me of one of Andersen's 'Märchen,' but I don't know which."
"For though he lived aloof from ken, The world's unwitnessed denizen, The love within him stirs Abroad, and with the hearts of men His own confers."
The story of my life from day to day was dull enough, same enough for some time after I went to live at the Wehrhahn. I was studying hard, and my only variety was the letters I had from home; not very cheering, these. One, which I received from Adelaide, puzzled me somewhat. After speaking of her coming marriage in a way which made me sad and uncomfortable, she condescended to express her approval of what I was doing, and went on:
"I am catholic in my tastes. I suppose all our friends would faint at the idea of there being a 'singer' in the family. Now, I should rather like you to be a singer--only be a great one--not a little twopenny-halfpenny person who has to advertise for engagements.
"Now I am going to give you some advice. This Herr von Francius--your teacher or whatever he is. Be cautious what you are about with him. I don't say more, but I say that again. Be cautious! Don't burn your fingers. Now, I have not much time, and I hate writing letters, as you know. In a week I am to be married, and then--_nous verrons_. We go to Paris first, and then on to Rome, where we shall winter--to gratify my taste, I wonder, or Sir Peter's for moldering ruins, ancient pictures, and the Coliseum by moonlight? I have no doubt that we shall do our duty by the respectable old structures. Remember what I said, and write to me now and then.
I frowned and puzzled a little over this letter. Be cautious? In what possible way could I be cautious? What need could there be for it when all that passed between me and von Francius was the daily singing lesson at which he was so strict and severe, sometimes so sharp and cutting with me. I saw him then; I saw him also at the constant proben to concerts whose season had already begun; proben to the "Passions-musik," the "Messiah," etc. At one or two of these concerts I was to sing. I did not like the idea, but I could not make von Francius see it as I did. He said I must sing--it was part of my studies, and I was fain to bend to his will.