The application of which wise saw is indeed to seek.

So the two maids went away, and I betook me to the window to see if I could catch a glimpse of Christian’s Elsa.

But I only saw Katrin and Helene going gossiping down the street with their heads very close together.

At first I smiled, well pleased to think how excellently I had played my cards and how daintily I had worked in those gallant speeches out of the book of chivalry.  But by-and-by it struck me that the Little Playmate was absent a most unconscionable time.  Could it be—­Michael Texel?  No, that at least was plainly impossible.

I got up and walked about.  Then for a change I paused by the window.

I had stood a good while thus moodily looking out at the casement, when I became aware of two that walked slowly up the street and halted together before the great iron-studded door which led to the Red Tower.

By the thirty thousand virgins—­Helene and Michael Texel!

And then, indeed, what a coil was I in; how blackly deceitful I called her!  How keenly I watched for any token of understanding and kindness more than ordinary that might chance to pass between them.  But I could see none, for though the great soft lout of a ruddy beer-vat tried often to look under the brim of her hat, yet she kept her eyes down—­only once, that I could observe, raising them, and that was more towards the Red Tower than in the direction of Michael Texel.

I think she wished to see whether I was watching.  And when she had noted me it I wot well that she became much more animated, and laughed and spoke quickly, with color in her cheeks and a flash of defiance on her countenance, which were manifestly wasted on such a boastful, callow blubber-tun as Michael Texel.

Then it was:  “Adieu to you, Master Texel!” “Farewell to you, fair maid!”

And Helene dipped a courtesy to him, dainty and sweet enough to conquer an angel, while the great jelly-bag shook himself almost to pieces in his eagerness to achieve a masterly bow.  All this made me angry, not that I cared though Helene had coquetted with a dozen lads, an it had liked her.  It was only the poverty of taste shown in being seen in the open High Street of Thorn along with such an oaf as Michael Texel.  He had first been my friend, it is true, but then at that time I had not found him out.

By-and-by Helene came up the stairs, tripping light as a feather that the wind blows.  Perhaps, though, she had turned in the doorway, where I could not see her, to throw the lout a kiss—­so I thought within me, jealously.

“You have convoyed your gossip Katrin home in safety, I trust,” said I, sweetly, as she came in.

“Yes,” said she; “but I fear she has left her heart behind her.  So wondrously rapid a courtship never did I see!”

“Save on the street,” answered I; “and with a pale, soft jack-pudding like Michael Texel!  That was a sight, indeed.”