“Ho! Ho! my good fellows!” he cried; “you are on your way to Heidelberg to perform, I see.” Wilfred surveyed the traveler from the corner of his eye, and replied briefly: “Is that of any interest to you, sir?” “Yes, for in that case I wish to give you a bit of advice.” “Advice?” “Precisely; if you wish it.” Wilfred started on without replying. I noticed that the traveler’s appearance was like that of an enormous cat; his ears wide apart, his eyelids half closed, with a bristling mustache, and a fatherly, almost caressing manner. “My friend,” he continued, addressing himself to me, “frankly, you will do well to retrace your steps.” “Why so, sir?” “The great Maestro Pimenti has just now announced a concert to take place at Heidelberg on Christmas day. The entire city will be there, and you will not earn a kreutzer.” At this point, Wilfred turned around ill-humoredly: “We care not a sou for your Maestro nor all the Pimentis in Christendom,” he said; “look at this young fellow here, without even the sign of a beard on his chin! He has never yet played outside of the ale-houses of the Black Forest, for the woodcutters and charcoal-women to dance; and yet this boy, with his long yellow curls and big blue eyes, defies all your Italian impostors. His left hand is possessed of inimitable melody, grace, and suppleness, and his right of a power to draw the bow, that the Almighty rarely accords us mortals.” “Oh! ho! Indeed!” returned the other. “It is just as I tell you,” Wilfred replied, and he resumed his pace, blowing on his fingers that were red with the cold. I saw that he was ridiculing the horseman, who continued to follow us at an easy trot. We continued thus for a full half mile in silence. Suddenly the stranger said to us abruptly: “Whatever skill you may possess, go back to the Black Forest; we have vagabonds enough in Heidelberg without you to increase the number. I give you good advice, particularly under the existing circumstances; you will do well to profit by it.” Wilfred, now thoroughly out of patience, was about to reply, but the traveler, urging his horse into a gallop, had already crossed the broad Avenue d’Electeur. An immense flock of crows flew up from the plain and seemed to be following him, filling the heavens with their cawing. We reached Heidelberg at about seven o’clock, and we did indeed see Pimenti’s magnificent posters on all the walls of the city, which read: “Grand Concert Solo.”