But he was an ordinary man--the same as the others. He had on a brown cap with the ear-flaps tied together over the top, and he wore an old faded cloak out of which the rain-water was still trickling down upon the seat. His shoes, mud-covered and water-soaked, stood squarely against each other on the wooden floor. His trousers were frayed out, and had lost all definite color. Johannes wanted to speak to him, but his lips trembled so he could not utter a word, and tears coursed down his cheeks. All this time they still sat hand in hand. Nothing had been said, but Johannes felt his hand being pressed, while a superhuman assurance and encouragement, from out those kindly eyes, gradually penetrated to the depths of his being. His Guide smiled, and indicated that he ought to give attention to the performance and to the spectators. Slowly, with a long-drawn breath, Johannes turned his eyes thither; but he looked on listlessly and without interest. And now and then--whenever he dared--he looked at his Guide; at his wet, shabby clothes; at his hands--not coarse--but oddly rough, and with a blackened thumb and forefinger; at his pale, patient face, with the hair clinging to the temples. The boy's lips began to tremble again, his throat contracted, and irrepressible sobs accompanied the tears. When he looked into the sanded ring around which the spectators sat, he saw a large white horse coming in. Upon him stood the pale, fair little girl. She had more color now, and looked much prettier and more graceful. She sprang and knelt upon the big white horse while she enlivened him with her shrill cries. It was not merely sympathy and tenderness that moved Johannes now, but something more of admiration and respect; for she seemed no older than himself, and yet she was not in the least timid, but understood her art well. The people clapped loudly, and then she put her slender, delicate hands one by one to her lips, waving them first to the left, then to the right, with self-possessed grace. The clown made her a low bow with all kinds of foolish grimaces, and indicated the greatest respect; and she rewarded him with a studied smile, like a princess. Johannes could not take his eyes away from her. "Who is that little girl?" he asked his Guide. "Is she really so lovely?" "Her name is Marjon," said his Guide, "and she is a dear, good child, but too weak for her task." "I wish I could do something for her," said Johannes. "That is a good boy. We will go to her, presently." Johannes did not pay much more attention to the exhibition. His mind was full of the prospective interview with the little actress. The world in which she lived was charming. And she herself seemed, at this moment, the one above all others he most wished to help and benefit.