"Do not deny it," said he, with wonted impudence, "you bear a grudge in your heart to this Blanden and the singer. Our French governess, whose accent may God improve, would term it _dépit amoureux_, but I am far from wishing to employ such outrageous French expressions in honest German." Lori blushed again; her lips quivered, but the Doctor's fiery eyes rested so triumphantly and with such superiority upon her that the word died upon her lips. "Good, neither Herr von Blanden nor the singer trouble me, but I will not allow our establishment, for which I have the warmest affection, to suffer from its principal's melancholy mood. You are so sad now, Fräulein Baute, that the entire first class has lost its smile, as people say--you make mountains out of mole-hills. The concern suffers from it, we might lose pupils, the consequences would be serious. There are sensitive girlish natures which close their calix-like delicate flowers when the sun ceases to shine. For these your smile, Fräulein Baute, is the sunshine of the establishment. We, we who are not so sensitive, are, at least, angry at the winter of your displeasure! All the same--if an execution of the Bollini shall take place, I am ready for any executioner's service; I have friends to whom the Italian sing-song is objectionable, and who prefer a German drinking song to any _aria_. We will work for you, Fräulein Baute; a cavalier who makes so little of a rendezvous as this Herr von Blanden is rightly served when his night-light is blown out." "What you say, dear Herr Doctor," said Lori, "is most objectionable in tone and manner, and really not calculated for a girl's ears. I will forget it. As to the rest, you have the right to think a singer as bad as you choose! You belong to the public, and the public is sovereign." The result of this conversation was that on the fatal evening Dr. Sperner, with several young friends, sat in a very determined attitude in several rows in front of the mistress of the school. Lori's eyes rested upon him with satisfaction, when he turned round and nodded a confidential smiling greeting to her. "There will be a disturbance to-day," Lori whispered to Cäcilie, sitting exactly before her. "But why in the world?" asked the other. "The affair with Blanden--" "But Signora Bollini will not sing falsely on that account." "Who knows?" said Lori, "those who are out of tune in life, are also out of tune in art; we must set ourselves against the importation of the equivocal doings of large towns; I should only approve if our public raise a decided demonstration." "She is a splendid florid singer," replied Cäcilie. "After all, the audience in a theatre has only to judge of the singing and not to distribute the Monthyon prize of virtue; the most celebrated actresses would not have received it." Lori shook her curls angrily at such an evasive opinion, and leaned back in her chair abruptly terminating the conversation.