During Uncle Joachim's story, I had sat in the chair Fraeulein Luise usually occupied, and patiently endured everything like a person who is crossing the fields in a pouring rain without an umbrella, and feels that he is drenched to the skin and can be no worse off. Every spark of hope had vanished; I knew that she would never turn back from the path she had entered; and, even if it were possible, she would be too proud to desire to do so. But man is so constituted that, though I foresaw all the misery of the future, for I did not trust the handsome face of the man to whom she had fled, and I knew by this step she had forfeited her right to be received into her chapter in case of need, in short, though I saw nothing in prospect for her save trouble and grief--the bitterest thing of all to me was to find my own dreams and wishes, which hitherto I had never acknowledged to myself, shattered at one blow. The most frantic jealousy of the happy man, who had won the bride forever unattainable to me, burned in my miserable soul, now suddenly bankrupt; and, when it flashed upon my mind that I had even been her accomplice by deferring the discovery of her flight as long as possible through my organ-music, I felt so utterly wretched that I suddenly burst into Boyish sobbing, in which offended vanity, wounded love, and grief for the uncertain fate of the woman so dear to me, bore an equal share. Just at that moment I felt Uncle Joachim's hand press heavily on my shoulder. "Hold up your head and don't flinch, my friend," he said, in a voice that was by no means firm. "We can't change the matter now, so we must let it go. But we must always repeat to ourselves one thing: whatever folly a woman like her may commit, she will not allow herself to succumb to it. She may lose the right scent once, like Diana, but she'll find it again--I feel no anxiety on that score. The only people who will surfer and can get no amends are ourselves--or rather, I mean, my own insignificant self. You are a young man, still have life before you, and--which I can't say of myself--are a devout Christian. But an old fellow like me, who is robbed of his only plaything--deuce take it! It will be a dog's life!" He had put on his coat and now whistled to Diana. "Excuse me, Herr Candidate, I have some business to attend to. Stay quietly here till your eyes are dry. I'm disgusted with the old barrack, since we can expect no more pound-cake here." He went out, carrying his gun upside down and followed by Diana, whose ears drooped mournfully, as if she shared her master's mood. II.