Daniel walked over to the table, took the newspaper wrapping from the mask, and held it up in the light of the lamp. “How beautiful!” exclaimed Gertrude, whose senses were now delighted at the sight of any object that appealed to one’s feelings. “Well, take it, then, Gertrude,” said Eleanore, as she leaned both elbows on the top of the table. “Keep it with you,” she continued somewhat tensely, when she noticed that Gertrude was looking at Daniel as if to say, “May I?” “But won’t he give it to both of us?” replied Gertrude with a covetous smile. “No, no, he simply mentioned me for courtesy’s sake,” said Eleanore, quite positively. “Eleanore, I can scarcely tell you how I feel toward you,” said Daniel, half confused, half angry, and then stopped with conspicuous suddenness when the fiery blue of her eyes fell upon him. “You?” she whispered in astonishment, “you?” “Yes, you,” he replied emphatically. “Later I can tell everybody; to-day it is true in a double sense: you seem to me just like a sister.” He had laid the mask to one side and extended his left hand to Eleanore, and then, hesitating at first, he gave Gertrude his right hand with a most decisive gesture. Eleanore straightened up, took the mask of Zingarella, and held it up before her face. “Little Brother,” she cried out in a teasing tone. The pale, sweet stone face was wonderful to behold, as it was raised above the body that was pulsing with life. And Gertrude—for one second she hung on Daniel’s gaze, a sigh as deep as the murmuring of the sea sounded in her bosom, and then she lay in his arms. He kissed her without saying a word. His face was gloomy, his brow wrinkled. “Little Brother” sounded out from behind the mask. But there was no banter in the expression; it was much more like a complaint, a revelation of anguish: “Little Brother!” IV Daniel had left the city long ago. Eleanore chanced to meet Herr Carovius. He forced her to stop, conducted himself in such a familiar way, and talked in such a loud voice that the passersby simpered. He asked all about the young master, meaning Daniel. He told her that “the good Eberhard”—it was his way of referring to Baron von Auffenberg—had gone to Munich for a few months, and was taking up with spiritists and theosophists. “It is his way of having a fling,” said Herr Carovius, grinning from ear to ear. “In former times, when young noblemen wished to complete their education and have a little lark at the same time, they made the grand tour over Europe. Now-a-days they become penny-a-liners, or they go in for table-tipping. Humanity is on the decline, my charming little girl. To study the flower of the nation at close range is no longer an edifying occupation. It is rotten, as rotten, I tell you, as last winter’s apples. There is consequently no greater pleasure than to make such a young chap dance. You play, he dances; you whistle, he retrieves. It is a real treat!”