As they approached a coffee-house on the same side of the street as the Dom, Marguerite proposed to Dumiger to remain there, where they could best see the dancing, and she drew a chair toward her.

“No, no, not here!” exclaimed Dumiger; and he took her across the square to another house of greater reputation.

But it was not on this account that Dumiger preferred it, but because it had a view of the Dom; he could there contemplate the space which was left for the clock, of which he fondly believed he was making the model.  He pictured to himself that tower, the wonder and admiration of the town; that on the spot where he was then sitting numbers would crowd to view the wonderful machinery fashioned by his genius.

The history of the cafe to which he took Marguerite was curious; it had been opened not less than one hundred and twenty years without being once entirely closed.  It was, in point of fact, formed by two houses, which were used alternately to allow of the necessary repairs and cleansings.  On such an occasion as the present they were both thrown open,—­the one part was for persons of the second rank, amongst which Dumiger and Marguerite now classed themselves; the other was reserved for the people of the higher order, for in this city of popular institutions and liberal opinions the distinction of classes was very strictly preserved.

Marguerite and Dumiger ordered some slight refreshment.  Marguerite was enjoying that repose which is so agreeable to the mind after the sensation of strong happiness; Dumiger, with his head resting on his hand, was gazing on the lofty tower of the Dom, and the light fleecy clouds, which appeared to be almost attracted by the glittering vane.  At that moment a rude hand slapped his shoulder.

“You here, Dumiger!” said Carl.  “Why, Confound it, man.  I thought you were poring over dull tomes of the University library, or worshiping a saint” and he took off his hat to Marguerite.  “Here is Krantz, your old friend Krantz, whom you have not seen since we were all at Bonn together:  so I will drink with you as well as he did three years since, when we reveled in Rhenish.”

Dumiger seized the extended hand, a gleam shot across his mind:  the three years of abstraction and thought appeared to be swept away; he only beheld his two boon companions; his countenance was lightened of a dozen years.

“Marguerite, these are two friends of mine,” he said; “it is getting late and cold.  See, the lights on the fountains are burning very dim, and the benches are deserted.  You will not grudge me this one night for acquaintance sake, dear Marguerite?  I shall not he late, but I must grant myself one bottle to-night to drink to my success.  What, angry, my Marguerite!”