“Cato?” said Fredersdorf.  “Do you mean the drama, or that wearisome old fellow himself? or Eckhof, who plays the part of Cato?”

“So it is Eckhof,” said Lupinus, to himself; “he is called Eckhof?”

The play was at an end; the curtain fell for the last time, and now the long-suppressed enthusiasm burst forth in wild and deafening applause.  The young stranger was silent, his eyes were full of tears; and yet he was perhaps the happiest of them all, and these rapturous tears were a loftier tribute to the great actor than the loudest bravos.  The people had passed a happy evening, and common cares and sorrows had been forgotten; but Lupinus felt as if his heart had risen from the dead:  he was changed from old age to sunny youth; he had suddenly discovered in himself something new, something never suspected—­a glowing, loving heart.

“Well, now I am resolved, wholly resolved,” said Joseph, as they forced their way through the crowd.  “I no longer hesitate; I give up to you your dry learning and philosophy; you are welcome to your dusty books and your imposing cues.  I will be an actor.”

“Ha! an actor?” said Lupinus, awaking from his dream and trembling violently.

“Why are you shocked at my words?  I suppose you despise me because of this decision; but what do I care?  I will be an artiste; I shall not be disturbed by the turned-up noses and derisive shrugs of you wise ones.  I will be a scholar of Eckhof; so despise me, my learned Lupinus—­I give you permission.”

“I am not laughing,” said Lupinus.  “Each one must walk in that path at the end of which he hopes to find his ideal.”

“Yes, truly, and so I will go to Eckhof,” said Fredersdorf, waving his hat triumphantly in the air.

“Do you know where he dwells?” said the youth.

“Certainly.  We are standing now just before his door.  See there in the third story, those two lighted windows?  That is Eckhof’s home.”

“What is the name of this street?”

“What is that to you?  Has my prophecy really come true, and are you in love with the great actor?  Do not let go my arm; do not turn away from me angrily.  The Post Strasse is a long way off from where you dwell; you will lose yourself.  Let us go together.  I will risk no more unseemly jests with you.  Come!”

“He lives in the Post Strasse; he is called Eckhof,” said Lupinus to himself, as he took Joseph’s arm and walked through the dark streets.  “I must see Eckhof; he shall decide my fate.”

CHAPTER XI.

A life question.

It was the morning after Eckhof’s benefit.  The usually quiet dwelling of the actor resounded with the ringing of glasses and merry songs after the toils and fatigues of the evening.  He wished to afford to himself and his comrades a little distraction; to give to the hungry sons of the Muses and Graces a few hours of simple enjoyment.  Eckhof’s purse was full and he wished to divide its contents with his friends.