taken part in one.  In brief, there was such a jumble with the hearts that somebody—­that is, I—­had to take matters in hand.  I sprang on my horse one warm summer night, mounted Fraeulein Flora as the painter Guido on another, and rode toward the south, to conceal her in one of my lonely castles in Italy till all the fuss about the hearts should be over.  But on the way we were tracked, and from the balcony of the Italian inn before which you kept, sound asleep, such admirable watch, Flora suddenly caught sight of our pursuer.”  “The crooked Signor, then—­” “Was a spy.  Therefore we secretly took to the woods, and left you to travel post alone over our prearranged route.  That misled our pursuer, and my people in the mountain castle besides; they were hourly expecting the disguised Flora, and with more zeal than penetration they took you for the Fraeulein.  Even here at the castle they thought Flora was among the mountains; they inquired about her, they wrote to her—­did you not receive a note?” In an instant I produced the note from my pocket:  “This letter, then—?” “Is addressed to me,” said Fraeulein Flora, who up to this point had seemed to be paying no attention to our conversation.  She snatched the note from me, read it, and put it into her bosom.  “And now,” said Herr Lionardo, “we must hasten to the castle, where they are all waiting for us.  In conclusion, as a matter of course, and as is fitting for every well-bred romance—­discovery, repentance, reconciliation; but we are all happy together once more, and the wedding takes place the day after tomorrow!”

Just as he had finished, a terrific racket of drums and trumpets, horns and clarionets, was suddenly heard in the shrubbery; guns were fired at intervals, loud cheers were given, the little girls began to dance again, and heads appeared among the bushes as if they had grown out of the earth.  I ran and leaped about in all the hurry and scurry, but as it began to grow dark I only gradually recognized all the faces.  The old gardener beat the drum, the students from Prague in their cloaks played away, and among them the Porter fingered his bassoon like mad.  When I suddenly perceived him thus unexpectedly, I ran to him and embraced him with enthusiasm, causing him to play quite out of time.  “Upon my word, if he should travel to the ends of the earth he would never be anything but a goose!” he said to the students, and then went on blowing away at his bassoon in a fury.

Meanwhile, the lovely Lady fair had privately escaped from all the noise and confusion, and had fled like a startled fawn far into the depths of the garden.

I caught sight of her in time and hurried after her.  In their zeal the musicians never noticed us; after a while they thought that we had decamped to the castle, and then the entire band took up the line of march in that direction.