“I ran my fingers through my hair in my eagerness to secure the song and when she observed my anxiety, she consoled me and said that the organist of St. Peter’s visited her father’s store frequently to buy nutmeg, that she would ask him to write out the music of the song, and that I might call for it in a few days.  Thereupon she took up her basket and went, while I accompanied her as far as the staircase.  As I was making a final bow on the top step, I was surprised by the director, who bade me go to my work and railed against the girl, in whom, he asserted, there wasn’t a vestige of good.  I was very angry at this and was about to retort that I begged to differ with him, when I realized that he had returned to his office.  Therefore I calmed myself and also went back to my desk.  But from that time on he was firmly convinced that I was a careless employee and a dissipated fellow.

“As a matter of fact, I was unable to do any decent work on that day or on the following days, for the song kept running through my head.  I seemed to be in a trance.  Several days passed and I was in doubt whether to call for the music or not.  The girl had said that the organist came to her father’s store to buy nutmeg; this he could use only for his beer.  Now the weather had been cold for some time, and therefore it was probable that the good organist would rather drink wine and thus not be in need of nutmeg so soon.  A too hasty inquiry might seem impolite and obtrusive, while, on the other hand, a delay might be interpreted as indifference.  I didn’t dare address the girl in the corridor, since our first meeting had been noised broad among my colleagues, and they were thirsting for an opportunity to play a practical joke on me.

“In the meantime I had again taken up my violin eagerly and devoted myself to a thorough study of the fundamental principles.  Occasionally I permitted myself to improvise, but always closed my window carefully in advance, knowing that my playing had found disfavor.  But even when I did open the window, I never heard my song again.  Either my neighbor did not sing at all, or else she sang softly and behind closed doors, so that I could not distinguish one note from another.

“At last, about three weeks having passed, I could wait no longer.  Two evenings in succession I had even stolen out upon the street, without a hat, so that the servants might think I was looking for something in the house, but whenever I came near the grocery store such a violent trembling seized me that I was obliged to turn back whether I wanted to or not.  At last, however, as I said, I couldn’t wait any longer.  I took courage, and one evening left my room, this time also without a hat, went downstairs and walked with a firm step through the street to the grocery store, in front of which I stopped for a moment, deliberating what was to be done next.  The store was lighted and I heard voices within.  After some hesitation I leaned forward and peered in from