When George Pepusch came to Berlin, Leuwenhock's fair niece was the talk of the day; and hence at the table of the hotel, where he lodged, scarcely any thing else was spoken of but the little wonder that delighted all the men, young and old, and even the women themselves. Every one pressed the new-comer to place himself on the pinnacle of the existing mode at Berlin, and see the Hollandress. Pepusch had an irritable, melancholy temperament; in every enjoyment he found too much of the bitter after-taste, which, indeed, comes from the Stygian brook that runs through our whole life, and this made him gloomy and often unjust to all about him. It may be easily supposed, that in this mood he was little inclined to run about after pretty girls; but he went nevertheless to the flea-tamer's, less on account of the dangerous wonder, than to confirm his preconceived opinion that here too, as so often in life, a strange madness was predominating. He found the Hollandress fair, indeed, and agreeable; but in considering her, he could not help smiling with self-satisfaction at his own sagacity, by the help of which he had already guessed that the heads, which the little-one had so perfectly turned, must have been tolerably crazy before they left home.
The maiden had that light easy manner which evinces the best education; a mistress of that delightful coquetry, which, when it offers the finger-tips to any one, at the same time takes from him the power of receiving them, the lovely little creature knew how to attract her numerous visitors, as well as to restrain them within the bounds of the strictest decorum.
None troubled themselves about the stranger, who had leisure enough to observe all the actions of the fair one. But while he continued staring more and more at the beautiful face, there awoke in the deepest recesses of his mind a dark recollection, as if he had somewhere before seen the Hollandress, although in other relations and in other attire, and that he himself had at one time worn a very different form. In vain he tormented himself to bring this recollection to any clearness, yet still the idea of his having really seen the little creature before became more and more determinate. The blood mounted into his face, when at last some one gently jogged him, and whispered in his ear,--"The lightning has struck you too, Mr. Philosopher, has it not?" It was his neighbour of the ordinary, to whom he had asserted that the ecstasy into which all had fallen was no better than madness, which would pass away as quickly as it had arisen.