speaks to me in a strange way of itself.  The first time I played upon it I somehow fancied that I was only the magnetizer who has the power of moving his subject to reveal of his own accord in words the visions of his inner nature.  Don’t go away with the belief that I am such a fool as to attach even the slightest importance to such fantastic notions, and yet it’s certainly strange that I could never prevail upon myself to cut open that dumb lifeless thing there.  I am very pleased now that I have not cut it open, for since Antonia has been with me I sometimes play to her upon this violin.  For Antonia is fond of it—­very fond of it.”  As the Councillor uttered these words with visible signs of emotion, I felt encouraged to hazard the question, “Will you not play it to me, Councillor?” Krespel made a wry face, and falling into his drawling, singing way, said, “No, my good sir!” and that was an end of the matter.  Then I had to look at all sorts of rare curiosities, the greater part of them childish trifles; at last thrusting his arm into a chest, he brought out a folded piece of paper, which he pressed into my hand, adding solemnly, “You are a lover of art; take this present as a priceless memento, which you must value at all times above everything else.”  Therewith he took me by the shoulders and gently pushed me towards the door, embracing me on the threshold.  That is to say, I was in a symbolical manner virtually kicked out of doors.  Unfolding the paper, I found a piece of a first string of a violin about an eighth of an inch in length, with the words, “A piece of the treble string with which the deceased Stamitz [Footnote:  This was the name of a well-known musical family from Bohemia.  Karl Stamitz is the one here possibly meant, since he died about eighteen or twenty years previous to the publication of this tale.] strung his violin for the last concert at which he ever played.”

This summary dismissal at mention of Antonia’s name led me to infer that I should never see her; but I was mistaken, for on my second visit to the Councillor’s I found her in his room, assisting him to put a violin together.  At first sight Antonia did not make a strong impression; but soon I found it impossible to tear myself away from her blue eyes, her sweet rosy lips, her uncommonly graceful, lovely form.  She was very pale; but a shrewd remark or a merry sally would call up a winning smile on her face and suffuse her cheeks with a deep burning flush, which, however, soon faded away to a faint rosy glow.  My conversation with her was quite unconstrained, and yet I saw nothing whatever of the Argus-like watchings on Krespel’s part which the Professor had imputed to him; on the contrary, his behavior moved along the customary lines, nay, he even seemed to approve of my conversation with Antonia.  So I often stepped in to see the Councillor; and as we became accustomed to each other’s society, a singular feeling of homeliness, taking possession of our little circle