“Why doesn’t he relish his fried flounders to-day?” asked his mother, when he had left them after dinner. Each felt that something oppressed the pride and favorite of the household, but did not attempt to discover the cause; they knew the moods to which he was sometimes subject for half a day. After Wilhelm had fed his doves, he went to his room, where he paced restlessly to and fro. Then he seized his violin and wove all the melodies be had heard from Isabella’s lips into one. His music had rarely sounded so soft, and then so fierce and passionate, and his mother, who heard it in the kitchen, turned the twirling-stick faster and faster, then thrust it into the firmly-tied dough, and rubbing her hands on her apron, murmured: “How it wails and exults! If it relieves his heart, in God’s name let him do it, but cat-gut is dear and it will cost at least two strings.” Towards evening Wilhelm was obliged to go to the drill of the military corps to which he belonged. His company was ordered to mount guard at the Hoogewoort Gate. As he marched through Nobelstrasse with it, he heard the low, clear melody of a woman’s voice issuing from an open window of the Hoogstraten mansion. He listened, and noticing with a shudder how much Henrica’s voice--for the singer must be the young lady--resembled Isabella’s, ordered the drummer to beat the drum. The next morning a servant came from the Hoogstraten house and gave Wilhelm a note, in which he was briefly requested to come to Nobelstrasse at two o’clock in the afternoon, neither earlier nor later. He did not wish to say “yes”--he could not say “no,” and went to the house at the appointed hour. Henrica was awaiting him in the little room adjoining the hall. She looked graver than the day before, while heavier shadows under her eyes and the deep flush on her cheeks reminded Wilhelm of Belotti’s fears for her health. After returning his greeting, she said without circumlocution, and very rapidly: “I must speak to you. Sit down. To be brief, the way you greeted me yesterday awakened strange thoughts. I must strongly resemble some other woman, and you met her in Italy. Perhaps you are reminded of some one very near to me, of whom I have lost all trace. Answer me honestly, for I do not ask from idle curiosity. Where did you meet her?” “In Lugano. We drove to Milan with the same vetturino, and afterwards I found her again in Rome and saw her daily for months.” “Then you know her intimately. Do you still think the resemblance surprising, after having seen me for the second time?” “Very surprising.” “Then I must have a double. Is she a native of this country?” “She called herself an Italian, but she understood Dutch, for she has often turned the pages of my books and followed the conversation I had with young artists from our home. I think she is a German lady of noble family.” “An adventuress then. And her name?” “Isabella--but I think no one would be justified in calling her an adventuress.”