words which had been thenceforth the light and guiding line of his life.  He had remained in the world; but he had renounced the more honorable post of prefect of the town-musicians, and taken on him the humble one of organist, in which it had been granted to him to offer up his great gift of music as it were a sacrifice to Heaven.  This maxim, which had spared the virtuous old man to the world, made its mark on Ann likewise; and whereas I saw how gladly she had received the doctrine that happiness should be found in making others happy, I prayed her to join me in taking it henceforth as the guiding lamp of our lives.  At this she was well pleased; and she went on to point wherein and how we should henceforth strive to forget ourselves for our neighbor’s sake, with that soaring flight of soul in which I could scarce follow her but as a child lags after a butterfly or a bird.

Then, when I presently saw that she was in better heart, I took courage, but in jest, being sure of her refusal, to plead the Magister’s suit.  This, however, was as I was departing; I had already stayed and delayed her over-long, inasmuch as I had yet to array myself for the feast at Uncle Christian’s.  But, as I was about to speak; a serving man came in with a letter written by the kind old man to Ann herself, his “dear watchman” in which, for the third time, he besought her, with pressing warmth, not to refuse to go to him on his name day and pledge him in the loving cup to his health and happiness.

With the help of this tender appeal I made her say she would go; yet she spoke the words in haste and great agitation.

My uncle’s messenger had hindered my suing, so while we hastily looked through Ann’s store of holiday raiment, I brought my pleading for Master Peter to an end; and what I looked for came, in truth, to pass:  without seeming one whit surprised she steadfastly rejected his suit, saying that he was the poor, good, faithful Magister, and worthy to win a wife whose heart was all his own.

At my uncle’s house that night, with the exception of certain learned and reverend gentlemen, Ann alone was not of gentle birth.  Yet was she in no wise the least, neither in demeanor nor in attire; and when I beheld her in the ante-chamber, all lighted up with wax tapers, in her sky-blue gown, thanking the master of the house and his sister—­who kept house for him—­for their condescension, as she upraised her great eyes with loving respect, I could have clasped her in my arms in the face of all the world, and I marvelled how my brother Herdegen could have sinfully cast such a jewel from him.

Then, when we went on together into the guest chamber, it fell that the town-pipers at that minute ceased to play and there was silence on all, as though a flourish of trumpets had warned of the approach of a prince; and yet it was only in honor of Ann and her wondrous beauty.  Each and all of the young men there would, meseemed, gladly have stepped into Herdegen’s place, and she was so fully taken up with dancing that she could scarce mark how diligently all the mothers and maidens overlooked her.  Howbeit, Ursula Tetzel was not content with that, but went up to her and with a sneer enquired whether Junker Schopper at Paris were well.