He turned, and motioning to Moritz not to follow him, almost flew down the stairs into the street. Drawing a long breath, he stood leaning against the door, gazing at the crowd--at the busy passers-by--some merrily chatting with their companions, others with earnest mien and in busy haste. No one seemed to care for him, no one looked at him. If by chance they glanced at him, Johann Wolfgang Goethe was of no more consequence to them than any other honest citizen in a neighboring doorway. Without perhaps acknowledging it to himself, Goethe was a little vexed that no one observed him; that the weather-maker from Weimar, who was accustomed to be greeted there, and everywhere, indeed, with smiles and bows, should here in Berlin be only an ordinary mortal--a stranger among strangers. “I would not live here,” said he, as he walked slowly down the street. “What are men in great cities but grains of sand, now blown together and then asunder? There is no individuality, one is only a unit in the mass! But it is well occasionally to look into such a kaleidoscope, and admire the play of colors, which I have done, and with a glad heart I will now fly home to all my friends--to you, beloved one--to you, Charlotte!” CHAPTER XI. THE INNER AND THE MIDDLE TEMPLE. Wilhelmine Enke had passed the day in great anxiety and excitement, and not even the distraction of her new possession had been able to calm the beating of her heart or allay her fears. Prince Frederick William had arrived early in the morning, to bid her farewell, as he was to march in the course of the day with his regiments from Potsdam. With the tenderest assurances of love he took leave of Wilhelmine, and with tears kissed his two children, pressing them to his heart. As he was about to enter his carriage he returned to the house to embrace his weeping mistress, and reassure her of his fidelity, and make her promise him again and again that she would remain true to him, and never love another.