Old Herold begged her to send him one of Daniel’s latest compositions, if she could. She said she would, and the next morning she took from the trunk the quartette in B minor for strings, and carried it over to the professor. He laid the score before him, and began to read. Eleanore took a seat, and patiently studied the many little painted pictures that hung on the wall. The hour was up. The white-haired man turned the last leaf and struck his clenched fist on the paper, while around his leonine mouth there was a play partly of wrath and partly of awe. He said: “The case will be placed on the calendar, you worthiest of all Eleanores, but I am no longer the herald.” He walked back and forth, wrung his hands, and cried: “What structure! What colourful tones! What a wealth of melody, rhythm, and originality! What discipline, sweetness, power! What a splendid fellow he is! And to think that a man like that lives right here among us, and plagues and tortures himself! A disgrace and a shame it is! Come, my dear woman, we will go to him at once. I want to press him to my bosom....” But Eleanore, whose face burned with the feeling of good fortune, interrupted him, and said: “If you do that, you will spoil everything. It will be much better to tell me what to do. He will become more and more obstinate and bitter, if some ray of light does not soon fall on what he has thus far created.” The old man thought for a while: “You leave the score with me; I’ll see what I can do with it; I have an idea,” he replied, after a short time had elapsed. Eleanore went back home full of hope. The quartette was sent to Berlin, and placed in the hands of a man of influence and discrimination. Some professional musicians soon became acquainted with it and its merits. Professor Herold received a number of enthusiastic letters, and answered them with characteristic and becoming shrewdness. A cycle of sagas was soon afloat in Berlin concerning the habits and personality of the unknown master. It was said that he was an anchorite who lived in the Franconian forests and preached renunciation of all earthly pleasures. In Leipzig the quartette was played before an invited audience. The applause was quite different from what it ordinarily was in the case of a public that is surfeited with musical novelties. Thereby Daniel finally learned what had been done. One day he received a letter from the man who had arranged the concert, a certain Herr Löwenberg. The letter closed as follows: “A community of admirers is anxious to come into possession of your compositions. They send you their greetings at present with cordial gratitude.” Daniel could scarcely believe his own eyes; it was like magic. Without saying a word he handed the letter to Eleanore. She read it, and looked at him quietly. “Yes, I am guilty,” she said, “I stole the quartette.” “Is that so? Do you realise, Eleanore, what you have done to me?” Eleanore’s face coloured with surprise and fear.