WHEN Herr Falkenberg arrived the following afternoon in the Jägerstrasse, he found Miss Ford alone in her atelier. She had sent Avice out with Ellen, she told him, to walk off the excitement of yesterday. ‘I am glad you have come early,’ she added, ‘while it is yet to-day. The evenings darken down so quickly now, don’t they?’ ‘Yes, very; but for me, these chilly autumn evenings have a great fascination.’ ‘Have they? And for me too. Do you know, there is nothing I like better than to put on my hat and shawl on a fine, sharp October evening, such as this is going to be, before it is quite dark, while the sky is still light; in fact, just at the time the lamplighter goes his rounds. There is a strange, unusual feeling in the air, and people go by like figures in a dream.’ ‘I know the feeling. And what is your favourite haunt at such times?’ ‘I like to pass through some of the most crowded streets first, then gradually to leave them and walk through the quieter Allee, till I get to the Hofgarten. I never get tired of it, small though it is. That well-worn round space, called the _Schöne Aussicht_, remains my favourite spot. Very few people go there at this season, and at that time in the evening. I can sit, or stand, or pace about as long as I choose, and watch the Rhine, and the remains of the sunset, and the bridge of boats, and think of all the villages which the distance hides. It is very beautiful, I think, though you may laugh at me for saying so.’ ‘I am not all inclined to laugh, for I like the same kind of thing myself. I have a special fondness for the “still, sad music of humanity,” which one comprehends best at such times.’ ‘Yes, it is a music worth listening to. But the music of humanity is not always sad, Herr Falkenberg, is it?’ ‘No,’ said Rudolf, looking down at her. He was standing, Sara was seated on a low chair, leaning forward, and looking up at him with an earnest, large gaze, and in her eyes was so deep, so triumphant and secure a happiness, that he could not fail to see it—it made her face glorious with its reflection. Falkenberg, looking at her, repressed the words of admiration he would fain have uttered, and sighed before he answered her, in his usual courteous, collected fashion. ‘No,’ he repeated; ‘it is often glad, I think, and when it is so, it is very glad. Pardon me, Miss Ford,’ he went on, with a slight smile, ‘I think it has been glad for you lately; you look as if your life’s music were pitched just now in a major key.’ Her cheek flushed, and her eyes fell, as she answered, in a low tone: ‘Yes, I have had a great happiness lately. I am very happy.’