When Wilhelm was there Paul was put completely in the background.  Malvine had no words or glances for any one but Wilhelm, and if she spoke to Paul it was only to thank him for having brought Dr. Eynhardt to the Lutzowstrasse.  If Paul came alone he was mortified to see a shadow pass over Malvine’s face, and he was forced to listen to a string of inquiries after his friend.  He had been conscious for a long time that he must try to reconcile himself to this condition of things, and if he felt himself rebelling, he reminded himself he must have patience and wait, trying to console himself with the thought that Malvine’s enthusiasm was only on her side—­Wilhelm’s demeanor seemed to show that he did not guess what was going on in the girl’s mind.  His manner was courteous and friendly, but there was really no difference between his demeanor toward Frau Brohl and toward the young girl.  While Malvine blushed and became confused when he entered the room, Wilhelm, on his side, spoke to the grandmother, mother, and daughter with exactly the same pleasant smile, and his hand rested not a moment longer in Malvine’s than in that of her grandmother.  On his side there was evidently nothing to dread.  He felt he had a defender and support in Frau Brohl.  The old lady kept a sharp lookout on her little world with her dim-sighted eyes.  She noticed that Malvine was unable to withstand the charm which Wilhelm exercised over her, and she could not bring herself to be angry with the girl.  She herself liked the young man extremely, admired his handsome face, his fine voice, his modest, unassuming manners, but she felt instinctively that he belonged to quite a different world from herself, and that in a sense they would always be strangers.  When he spoke she could not follow his thoughts, although she felt that they were very profound; when she spoke he listened with the greatest politeness, but nothing more came of it.  He tried to be attentive to her stories about engagements and separations, he was entirely uninterested in rich people, he did not praise the best dishes at table, and he even went so far as not to conceal his aversion for the design of the horrible knight in cross-stitch.  Beside all this, his clothes were bad, and although he had a house of his own, it was only a little one.  No, Wilhelm as a relation was not to be thought of.  He was not of their own flesh and blood, like that good, delightful Paul Haber.

It was not in Paul’s nature to wait patiently in suspense, and he determined to put an end to his uncertainty.  Malvine seemed to him as desirable as ever, and he had built up in his mind a future, of which Malvine and her sixty thousand thalers were the foundation.  He must know whether she were for him or not; in the one case to transform his castle in the air into reality without loss of time, and in the other case not to waste the best years of his life in aimless disappointment; not to let other opportunities slip by.  He was not quite clear, however, on