pleasing reflection that my detection, should it take place, would be sure of attracting a very general publicity.  Having ordered my supper from the landlord, with a certain air of reserve, sufficient to prevent even an Alsace host from obtruding any questions upon me, I took my opportunity to stroll from the inn down to the river side.  There lay the broad, rapid Rhine, separating me, by how narrow a gulph, from that land, where, if I once arrived, my safety was certain.  Never did that great boundary of nations strike me so forcibly, as now when my own petty interests and fortunes were at stake.  Night was fast settling upon the low flat banks of the stream, and nothing stirred, save the ceaseless ripple of the river.  One fishing barque alone was on the water.  I hailed the solitary tenant of it, and after some little parley, induced him to ferry me over.  This, however, could only be done when the night was farther advanced—­it being against the law to cross the river except at certain hours, and between two established points, where officers of the revenue were stationed.  The fisherman was easily bribed, however, to evade the regulation, and only bargained that I should meet him on the bank before daybreak.  Having settled this point to my satisfaction, I returned to my hotel in better spirits; and with a Strasbourg pate, and a flask of Nierensteiner, drank to my speedy deliverance.

How to consume the long, dreary hours between this time and that of my departure, I knew not; for though greatly fatigued, I felt that sleep was impossible; the usual resource of a gossip with the host was equally out of the question; and all that remained was the theatre, which I happily remembered was not far from the hotel.

It was an opera night, and the house was crowded to excess; but with some little management, I obtained a place in a box near the stage.  The piece was “Les Franc Macons,” which was certainly admirably supported, and drew down from the audience—­no mean one as judges of music—­the loudest thunders of applause.  As for me, the house was a great a curiosity as the opera.  The novel spectacle of some hundred (thousand?) people relishing and appreciating the highest order of musical genius, was something totally new and surprising to me.  The curtain at length fell upon the fifth act.

And now the deafening roar of acclamation was tremendous; and amid a perfect shout of enthusiasm, the manager announced the opera for the ensuing evening.  Scarcely had this subsided, when a buzz ran through the house; at first subdued, but gradually getting louder—­extending from the boxes to the balcone—­from the balcone to the parterre—­and finally even to the galleries.  Groups of people stood upon the benches, and looked fixedly in one part of the house; then changed and regarded as eagerly the other.

What can this mean? thought I. Is the theatre on fire?  Something surely has gone wrong!