As Marie did not answer at the moment, Lotta replied for her.
“I will tell you what I said behind your back. I said that Herr Crippel had the firmest hand upon a bow, and the surest fingers among the strings, in all Vienna—when his mind was not woolgathering. Marie, is not that true?”
“I do not remember anything about the woolgathering,” said Marie.
“I hope I shall not be woolgathering tonight; but I shall doubtless;—I shall doubtless—for I shall be thinking of your judgment. Shall I get you seats at once? There; you are just before me. You see I am not coward enough to fly from my critics,” and he placed them to sit at a little marble table, not far from the front of the low orchestra in the foremost place in which he would have to take his stand.
“Many thanks, Herr Crippel,” said Lotta. “I will make sure of a third chair, as a friend is coming.”
“Oh, a friend!” said he; and he looked sad, and all his sprightliness was gone.
“Marie’s friend,” said Lotta, laughing. “Do not you know Carl Stobel?”
Then the musician became bright and happy again. “I would have got two more chairs if you would have let me; one for the fraulein’s sake, and one for his own. And I will come down presently, and you shall present me, if you will be so very kind.”
Marie Weber smiled and thanked him, and declared that she should be very proud;—and the leader of the band went up into his place.
“I wish he had not placed us here,” said Lotta.
“And why not?”
“Because Fritz is coming.”
“No!”
“But he is.”
“And why did you not tell me?”
“Because I did not wish to be speaking of him. Of course you understand why I did not tell you. I would rather it should seem that he came of his own account—with Carl. Ha, ha!” Carl Stobel was the diamond-cutter to whom Marie Weber was betrothed. “I should not have told you now—only that I am disarranged by what Herr Crippel has done.”
“Had we not better go—or at least move our seats? We can make any excuse afterwards.”
“No,” said Lotta. “I will not seem to run away from him. I have nothing to be ashamed of. If I choose to keep company with Fritz Planken, that should be nothing to Herr Crippel.”
“But you might have told him.”
“No; I could not tell him. And I am not sure Fritz is coming either. He said he would come with Carl if he had time. Never mind; let us be happy now. If a bad time comes by-and-by, we must make the best of it.”
Then the music began, and, suddenly, as the first note of a fiddle was heard, every voice in the great beer-hall of the Volksgarten became silent. Men sat smoking, with their long beer-glasses before them, and women sat knitting, with their long beer-glasses also before them, but not a word was spoken. The waiters went about with silent feet, but even orders for beer were not given, and money was not received. Herr Crippel did his best, working with his wand as carefully—and I may say as accurately—as a leader in a fashionable opera-house in London or Paris. But every now and then, in the course of the piece, he would place his fiddle to his shoulder and join in the performance. There was hardly one there in the hall, man or woman, boy or girl, who did not know, from personal knowledge and judgment, that Herr Crippel was doing his work very well.
“Excellent, was it not?” said Marie.
“Yes; he is a musician. Is it not a pity he should be so bald?” said Lotta.
“He is not so very bald,” said Marie.
“I should not mind his being bald so much, if he did not try to cover his old head with the side hairs. If he would cut off those loose straggling locks, and declare himself to be bald at once, he would be ever so much better. He would look to be fifty then. He looks sixty now.”
“What matters his age? He is forty-five, just; for I know. And he is a good man.”
“What has his goodness to do with it?”
“A great deal. His old mother wants for nothing, and he makes two hundred florins a month. He has two shares in the summer theatre. I know it.”
“Bah! what is all that when he will plaster his hair over his old bald head?”
“Lotta, I am ashamed of you.” But at this moment the further expression of Marie’s anger was stopped by the entrance of the diamond-cutter; and as he was alone, both the girls received him very pleasantly. We must give Lotta her due, and declare that, as things had gone, she would much prefer now that Fritz should stay away, though Fritz Planken was as handsome a young fellow as there was in Vienna, and one who dressed with the best taste, and danced so that no one could surpass him, and could speak French, and was confidential clerk at one of the largest hotels in Vienna, and was a young man acknowledged to be of much general importance—and had, moreover, in plain language, declared his love for Lotta Schmidt. But Lotta would not willingly give unnecessary pain to Herr Crippel, and she was generously glad when Carl Stobel, the diamond-cutter, came by himself. Then there was a second and third piece played, and after that Herr Crippel came down, according to promise, and was presented to Marie’s lover.
“Ladies,” said he, “I hope I have not gathered wool.”
“You have surpassed yourself,” said Lotta.
“At woolgathering?” said Herr Crippel.
“At sending us out of this world into another,” said Lotta.
“Ah! go into no other world but this,” said Herr Crippel, “lest I should not be able to follow you.” And then he went away again to his post.
Before another piece had been commenced, Lotta saw Fritz Planken enter the door. He stood for a moment gazing round the hall, with
