No. The manager's wife never appeared. It was said that she was a lady of noble birth, who had run away with her present husband. But she was a very beautiful lady, and nobody could tell any evil of her. Did not I want something to eat? The _table-d'hote_, at which there was nobody now except one commercial traveler, would not be ready for two hours. I rose after hastily swallowing a single glass, let the officious youth brush my hat and clothes, and then requested him to direct me to the actor's residence. Perceiving my interest in him, he brought me the bill for that night's performance. The "Ancestress," a tragedy by Grillparger, with spectral apparitions: first row, six good groschens[3]; second row, five silver ones; pit, two good ones; children, half price; commencement at six o'clock. I read the names, of which I knew only the manager's: Jaromir--Manager Konstantin Spielberg. An uncomfortable feeling of mingled cowardice and repugnance again overpowered me. For a moment I actually hesitated whether I should not strap on my knapsack again and walk straight out through the opposite gate. But the puppet was fastened to its platform, and the naughty boy pulled till his toy was obliged to roll where he wanted it to go. The Goose-Market was a rectangular piece of ground, in which grew dusty acacia-trees. On one of the narrow sides stood the colonel's former residence, a by no means ugly two-story building, in the style of the reign of Old Fritz, with a flight of steps leading to the door, and a stone escutcheon on the cornice above. But all the windows were closed with shutters, and a cat lay asleep in the sentry-box beside the steps. My waiter led me to the side entrance, whose door was unlocked, and through the wide gateway into the shady court-yard, in whose center a large chestnut-tree spread its boughs in front of the windows of the rear building. "Please go up the stairs at the back," he said. "Somebody is always at home; but, if you want the manager, you'll find him now at the rehearsal. A very diligent artist, as the president of the district court says, and the rest of the company do well, too. But our little city deserves it, for everybody here raves about art. Well, you will see for yourself." He bowed affectedly and left me alone, which made me very happy. For the accursed throbbing of the heart grew madder than ever, and I was forced to lean against the trunk of the chestnut ere I was able to walk through the court-yard. The lower story of the back building seemed to be wholly occupied by stables and coach-houses. In the upper one, all the windows stood open, and their freshly washed panes glittered all the more brightly from the contrast to the thick dust on the doors and sills. At last I plucked up courage and mounted the dark stairs.