asked to lunch or dinner, and he often went with Frau Ellrich and Loulou to the opera or theater, but all these opportunities were not favorable for young lovers.  Loulou wore beautiful frocks, which made her much admired; the people were formal, and tolerated nothing that was not ultra polite and polished, in short, it was impossible to be true and natural as things had been in the forest, where the birds and the happy little squirrels served for playfellows.

Loulou was the first to have pity on Wilhelm’s discomfort, and to find means to give their intercourse in Berlin at least a little of the beautiful unconstraint of the old times.  Under the pretext that she wished to improve herself in drawing, she obtained many precious hours spent in the blue-room or in the winter garden, where their hands often found opportunities to clasp, and their lips to seek each other’s.  On the strength of Loulou’s English education, which had made her independent and self-reliant, and had freed her from any affectation of shyness, she often walked with Wilhelm to parts of the town which she did not know, or which she had only seen from the windows of a carriage.  On one of these voyages of discovery, as she called them, she saw Paul for the first time.  He met them in the Konigstrasse, as they stood on the Konigsmauer, Loulou looking halffearfully down the narrow street.  Paul looked very much astonished, and seemed as if he were not going to notice the pair of lovers, but Wilhelm nodded and asked him to join them.  So he went home with them, and as soon as he was alone with his friend he fell into rapturous admiration of the lovely girl, as Wilhelm had predicted in his letter from Hornberg.  One thing Paul could not understand, and he said so:  why had not Wilhelm formally asked for Loulou’s hand, why he was not properly engaged to her, and how could an impulsive man bear such a constrained position, which would cease the instant that he was Fraulein Ellrich’s declared fiance?

Wilhelm had at first no explanation to give his friend, but he knew very well that he delayed, and that he put off from day to day going to Loulou’s parents.  His was a sensitive, dreamy nature, and much too thoughtful to allow himself to act from passion.  He was accustomed to make his impulses subordinate to his reason, and to ask himself severe questions as to the where, how, and why of things.  He was not clear himself as to the condition of things between him and Loulou.  Did she love him?  There were many answers to that.  She seemed pleased when she saw him, and displeased if he appeared to forget her for a day.  But what he could not understand was that her head seemed as full as ever of her usual acquaintances, and that she was capable of spending some time in theaters, concerts, and society without looking for him.  Full too of talk of her frocks and neighbors, without wishing to interrupt the empty gossip with a look or a kiss to let him know that she was conscious of his presence, and in the middle of