The third house from the corner on the right hand side--now he was standing before it. The early hour, which was by no means suitable for visiting, did not trouble him in the least. Yet he willingly allowed Mohr, who happened to meet him just in front of the house, to drag him away for some distance, and listened patiently to his contemptuous criticism of a new tragedy which had created a great _furore_ the evening before, and which was a wretched abortion, badly pieced out with stolen fragments. What was at this moment, the "degeneration of the German stage" to him! what even his friend's hopes that his "_sinfonia ironica_" would at last obtain recognition, since a very able musician--he did not say it was no other than Christiane--was sincerely interested in it. They saw Franzelius on the other side of the street, engaged in an eager conversation with a dirty fellow in a blue blouse. He recognized them, but pulled his cap farther over his face and looked away. Mohr was just beginning to criticize the first number of the "Tribune of the People," which he had with him and which he declared to be an infallible remedy for melancholy. But Edwin suddenly turned away, and under the pretence that he had a lesson to give in that house, hastily retraced his steps as if to make up for lost time, and went up the steps without delay. His heart beat even more violently than at his first visit to her. On reaching the landing, he tried several times in an undertone, to see if he had breath enough to say good morning. But not until he had gazed at the bell handle for at least ten minutes, did he feel sufficiently composed to ring and ask the old woman who opened the door, if Fräulein Toinette Marchand was in. "She lives here," was the reply, "but it is so early that she isn't dressed yet." "She will probably see an old friend," replied Edwin quickly, and without heeding the woman's gesture of denial he crossed the threshold. At the same moment, one of the doors leading into the corridor opened, and the beautiful face, looking twice as charming in a lace morning cap as it had ever seemed before, suddenly appeared. She recognized him instantly; an involuntary movement of the head told him that her first thought was to refuse to see him, but the next instant she changed her mind. "Is it _you_!" she exclaimed, but without betraying any surprise in the tone. "I half expected you; I know no one can escape destiny. Come in. You will doubtless excuse my cap." He silently followed her into a neatly furnished room. His emotion was so great, that he vainly strove to utter a few indifferent words, and as if exhausted by a long walk, he sank down into one of the chairs beside her sofa. Neither did she seem to know what tone to adopt. Standing beside a flower stand, which however contained no exotics like the one in Jägerstrasse, she busied herself in pulling off the yellow leaves, and in binding up a drooping tendril.