Malz was a writer flourishing at Frankfort about 1830, whose short comedies, written in a light vein in the local dialect, hit off local Frankfort types with bright and amusing, though not deep, humour. It turned out that Gemma really did read excellently—quite like an actress in fact. She indicated each personage, and sustained the character capitally, making full use of the talent of mimicry she had inherited with her Italian blood; she had no mercy on her soft voice or her lovely face, and when she had to represent some old crone in her dotage, or a stupid burgomaster, she made the drollest grimaces, screwing up her eyes, wrinkling up her nose, lisping, squeaking…. She did not herself laugh during the reading; but when her audience (with the exception of Pantaleone: he had walked off in indignation so soon as the conversation turned _o quel ferroflucto Tedesco_) interrupted her by an outburst of unanimous laughter, she dropped the book on her knee, and laughed musically too, her head thrown back, and her black hair dancing in little ringlets on her neck and her shaking shoulders. When the laughter ceased, she picked up the book at once, and again resuming a suitable expression, began the reading seriously. Sanin could not get over his admiration; he was particularly astonished at the marvellous way in which a face so ideally beautiful assumed suddenly a comic, sometimes almost a vulgar expression. Gemma was less successful in the parts of young girls—of so-called “_jeunes premières_”; in the love-scenes in particular she failed; she was conscious of this herself, and for that reason gave them a faint shade of irony as though she did not quite believe in all these rapturous vows and elevated sentiments, of which the author, however, was himself rather sparing—so far as he could be. Sanin did not notice how the evening was flying by, and only recollected the journey before him when the clock struck ten. He leaped up from his seat as though he had been stung. “What is the matter?” inquired Frau Lenore. “Why, I had to start for Berlin to-night, and I have taken a place in the diligence!” “And when does the diligence start?” “At half-past ten!” “Well, then, you won’t catch it now,” observed Gemma; “you must stay … and I will go on reading.” “Have you paid the whole fare or only given a deposit?” Frau Lenore queried. “The whole fare!” Sanin said dolefully with a gloomy face. Gemma looked at him, half closed her eyes, and laughed, while her mother scolded her: “The young gentleman has paid away his money for nothing, and you laugh!” “Never mind,” answered Gemma; “it won’t ruin him, and we will try and amuse him. Will you have some lemonade?” Sanin drank a glass of lemonade, Gemma took up Malz once more; and all went merrily again. The clock struck twelve. Sanin rose to take leave.