Ever since that night, the poor, crazy fellow went about with a dagger, which he concealed in his belt, and it was his constant companion to the theater, and the stage door, when the actress's carriage used to wait for her, and to her house, where he nightly kept his painful watch. His first idea was to kill his fortunate rival, then himself, then the theatrical princess, but at last, he lay down again outside her door, or stood on the pavement and watched the shadows, that flitted hither and thither on her window, turned by the magic spell of the lovely actress. And then, the most incredible thing happened, something which he could never have hoped for, and which he scarcely believed when it did occur. One evening, when she had been playing a very important part, she kept the carriage waiting much longer than usual; but at last she appeared, and got into it; she did not shut the door, however, but beckoned to the young Idealist to follow her. He was almost delirious with joy, just as a moment before he had been almost mad from despair, and obeyed her immediately, and during the drive he lay at her feet and covered her hands with kisses. She allowed it quietly and even merrily, and when the carriage stopped at her door, she let him lift her out of the carriage, and went upstairs leaning on his arm. There, the lady's maid showed him into a luxuriously furnished drawing-room, while the actress changed her dress. Presently she appeared in her dressing gown, sat down carelessly in an easy chair, and asked him to sit down beside her. "You take a great interest in me?" she said. "You are my ideal!" the student cried enthusiastically. The theatrical princess smiled, and said: "Well, I will at any rate be an honest ideal; I will not deceive you, and you shall not be able to say that I have misused your youthful enthusiasm. I will give myself to you...." "Oh! Heavens!" the poor Idealist exclaimed, throwing himself at her feet. "Wait a moment! Wait a moment!" she said with a smile. "I have not finished yet. I can only love a man who is in a position to provide me with all those luxuries which an actress, or, if you like, which I cannot do without. As far as I know, you are poor, but I will belong to you, only for to-night, however, and in return you must promise me not to rave about me, or to follow me, from to-night. Will you do this?" The wretched Idealist was kneeling before her; he was having a terrible mental struggle. "Will you promise me to do this?" she said again. "Yes," he said, almost groaning. The next morning a man, who had buried his Ideal, tottered downstairs. He was pale enough; almost as pale as a corpse; but in spite of this, he is still alive, and if he has any Ideal at all at present, it is certainly not a theatrical princess. STABLE PERFUME