"I must go," said he. "It was my joke. I am the old woman who makes the whistles." Off he went. I have often thought since that much weariness, much sorrow to me, and much plotting and planning to the Great Writer of love-stories. Who lives above, might have been saved if I had gone that day with Vogel to see "the old woman who makes the whistles." "What was Skull-face saying to you?" asked Joubert. "He made me this," said I, showing him the pithed stick. The Felicianis departed at three o'clock. Eloise, with her cheeks flushed, was laughing with excitement: she seemed quite to have forgotten her grief. Four horses drew their carriage. They were bound for Homburg, where they would pass the night before going on to Frankfort. I remember, as the carriage drove off. Countess Feliciani looked back and smiled at us--at my father, myself, Von Lichtenberg, Major von der Goltz, and General Hahn, all grouped on the steps. God! had she known the happenings to follow, how that smile would have withered on her lips! Carl was still invisible, and the great schloss, now that Eloise was gone, seemed strangely empty to me. It is wonderful how much space a child can fill with its presence. Eloise's happy little form had diffused itself, spreading happiness and innocence far and wide, and dispelling I know not what evil things. If a rose can fill a room with its perfume, who knows how far may reach the perfume of an innocent and beautiful soul! At six o'clock I was in the library; a box of tin soldiers, which my father had bought for me at Carlsruhe, stood open on the table, and the armies were opposed. I was not too old to play with soldiers like these, for there were shoals of them: officers, and drummers, and gunners, cannon, flags--everything. As a matter of fact, Major von der Goltz had been playing with me, too, and I'll swear he took just as much interest in them as I. He had gone now, and I was tired of the soldiers. I turned my attention to the books. I was walking along by the shelves, examining the backs of the volumes and trying to imagine what the German titles could mean, when suddenly, from amidst the books, I heard a child's voice. The child seemed singing and talking to itself, and the sound seemed to come from the volumes on the shelves. It was strange to hear it coming from amidst the books like that, as though some volume of fairy tales had suddenly become vocal, and Hänsel, playing by the witch-woman's door, had found a voice. Then I noticed that the books before me were not real books, but imitation. In the centre of one of these imitation book-racks there was a little brass knob. I pressed it, and the wall gave, disclosing a passage. The book-backs were but the covering of a narrow door. This passage, suddenly disclosed, fascinated me.