for the cotillion.  But whether they were alone or in company, whether they danced or talked, whether he came or went, she showed a perfect unconcern and freedom of manner to which he longed to put an end.  She was much too cold and collected even for his unsentimental nature.  He would have forgiven some agitation, some confusion, a few blushes now and then, perhaps a sigh, but these signs of the heart’s flutterings were nowhere forthcoming.  As they were out one day alone together, something happened which filled Paul with doubt and trouble.  Malvine had been attracted to Wilhelm when first she saw him, and since then she had incessantly thought and talked of him.  He was so handsome, he spoke so charmingly!  She thought it astonishing that any one should not love him, just because his admiration was mingled with so much shyness.  She herself was much too insignificant a person to think of loving him, and beside, he was not free, and it would have been a sin to think of the man who was engaged to her friend.  This enthusiasm for Wilhelm naturally did not escape Paul’s notice, but it did not disquiet him, because he took into account Malvine’s nature.  “It is a harmless fancy,” he said to himself, “the sort of fancy girls take sometimes for princes whose photographs they see in shop-windows, or for actors whom they have admired as Don Carlos or Romeo; later on they laugh over their childish folly, and these fancies never prevent the pretty enthusiast from marrying and being happy.”

Nevertheless, things became suspiciously different after the breach between Wilhelm and Loulou.  In Malvine’s somewhat narrow but well-regulated mind a brave romance had been mistakenly built up.  Now Wilhelm was free:  now she need have no feeling of duty on account of that superficial, pleasure-seeking Loulou, who had never been worthy of him.  Was it impossible that he might notice her? would be grateful for her sympathy? and perhaps—­who knows—­later—­he might seek consolation from her—­who was so ready to give it?  The concluding chapter of this girlish romance remained her own secret, but the beginning she boldly declared.  She explained to her grandmother, as well as to Paul, that now Dr. Eynhardt was in need of being comforted, it was the duty of his friends to try to overcome his sorrow.  She proposed that Paul should bring him as often as possible, and she obtained from Frau Brohl the unwonted permission of inviting him to the Sunday luncheon.  Wilhelm had little pleasure in going into ordinary society, especially to strangers, but this invitation was so warm and pressing that he could not bring himself to refuse it.