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It was nearly dusk when I entered the city, and
quite accidentally I passed up the same street in which
Baron Von Poodleberg lived. As I approached the
house, I remembered the occurrence of the former
evening, and began to walk slowly. Just as I reached
the door-way, exactly as on the previous occasion,
another bunch of violets fell on the pavement at my
feet.

I looked up, and at the same window I saw the
same smiling face. I was almost sure that I recognized
the features of the little Ida, but in the gathering
twilight I could not feel positive. She held her
finger to her lip for an instant, and then made a succession
of rapid gestures. It was some time before
I could perceive what she intended; but after a little
while I was certain that she was beckoning me
to ascend. “The plot thickens,” thought I; “however,
it is a very agreeable mistake after all. I hope
that infernal door is not locked. I have no inclination
to make a confidant of that booby of a servant.
To think of the little Ida nourishing a fatal passion for
me, and then rumour ascribing it all to this Mr. Von
Pappenheim.” So saying, I tried at the door; it
was not fastened, but opened to my hand. A cursed

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bell, however, which, according to the prevalent German
fashion, was fastened over the entrance, gave a
jingle, and directly afterwards a puppy began to bark
in the porter's room. I had got in, however, and it
was too late to retreat; so I made myself as small
as possible, and stuck myself in the darkest corner of
the passage at the left side of the door.

“Run, Diedrich,” said a female voice from the
porter's room, “run to the door. I heard the bell
ring—the master has come in, I suppose.”

“Nonsense, Gretel,” answered a voice, which I
recognized as that of the servant who had opened
the door for me; “the master has not been gone ten
minutes, and he was to sup at the commandant's.
He will not return before ten. Let me smoke my
pipe in peace and quietness.”

“Lazy fellow!” answered the wife. “How do
you know that it is not some visitor, or even some
robber? Well, I shall go and look into the business.”

The door of the lodge opened. Luckily there was
no light in the porter's room, or I must inevitably
have been discovered. It was, however, now pitch
dark in the passage. The porter's wife came out,
and called towards the door.

“Is there any one there?” she demanded.

I nearly threw myself into convulsions by my
efforts to resist a provoking inclination to sneeze and
cough at the same moment; which inclinations, I
have always observed, are sure to come upon one
just when they are particularly inopportune. I continued,
however, to make no noise, and the old

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woman receiving no answer, began to think herself
mistaken, and returned towards the room. As ill-luck
would have it, however, the confounded cur,
whose voice I had heard on first entering, now
thought proper to turn his attention to the subject,
and jumping out into the passage, commenced sniffling,
and whining, and poking his nose into every
corner, with an evident intention of thoroughly investigating
the whole matter.

“Come here, Blitz,—come here, little dog,” cried
the old woman.

But Blitz would not hear of such a thing. He
had already got up in the corner, and commenced
hostilities, by catching me by the leg. I could stand
it no longer; but making up my mind to be discovered,
and abide the consequences, I indulged the infernal
little beast with a kick, which sent him most
rapidly into the impenetrable darkness of the other
end of the passage.

“Hollo!—hollo!—hollo!” cried the porter.

“Ach! Herr Jesus!” cried the porter's wife.

“Blitz,—Blitz;—what the devil are you about?”
asked the porter, of his four-footed ally. Blitz made
no answer but by a deplorable whine.

The porter came out, with a lantern.

“Here's the devil to pay, to be sure,” thought I;
and as I supposed it impossible to escape, I prepared
to bluster. Luckily, however, the first thought of
the porter's wife had been to snatch up the much-injured
little Blitz, and lug him into her room,—so I

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was clear of that couple, at least, and had only to
deal with one antagonist.

Very fortunately, as the porter came along with
the lantern, he directed his attention to the right
side of the door, instead of the left, where I continued
to occupy my original position.—As he got close to
the entrance, his back was towards me.—Watching
my opportunity, I sprang upon him from behind,
knocked the lantern out of his hand, which, of
course, was extinguished in the fall, and then rolled
him over on the ground. I then, by a sudden and
lucky thought, threw the door hastily open, and
slammed it violently to, making it appear as if I
had evacuated the premises, and left them masters
of the field of battle. In the mean time, I fled rapidly
up the stair-case, which I was enabled, almost
by a miracle, to find.—As soon as I reached the first
landing, I crouched down into the obscurity, in order
to find out what would be the issue of this last
manœuvre.

“Thieves!—fire!—murder!—robbers!—rape!”
roared the porter.

“Robbers!—rape!” screamed the porter's wife,
hastening to the assistance of her husband.

As soon as she had assisted him to his legs, she
received the information, that a whole gang of robbers
had suddenly assaulted him, thrown him on the
ground, picked his pockets, and then all fled out of
the street-door. They magnanimously resolved to
follow them, and so rushed together out of the house
in pursuit of the fugitives.

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These events occupied not more than five minutes.
As soon as the coast was clear, I resolved to
ascend to the presence of my inamorata.

I ascended two flights of stairs, and found myself
in a tolerably spacious passage, lighted dimly by a
single lamp.—Presently a door was thrown slightly
ajar, and a female figure, which I knew to be Ida's,
presented itself.

“Hush!” she said, in a very low tone, as I was
preparing a speech; “Hush!—I know what you
are going to say.”

“Then you know a great deal more than I do!”
thought I, but said nothing.

As she spoke, she came forward a little way out
of the room, and caught me by the hand.—I squeezed
it affectionately, and thereupon she made no
more ado, but threw herself into my arms, and began
to weep for joy.

“Dearest,—dearest,—” she murmured, “it is so
long, that I have been dying to see you.”

“Very long, indeed,” thought I, “as I was never
within three hundred miles of you in my life, till a
week ago.”

“You must not speak a single word,” she repeated,
playfully laying her pretty little fingers on
my lips, as I prepared again to speak; “I am afraid
to trust you a moment.—I heard all the noise below,
and understood it perfectly,—that shocking little
dog of Diedrich's,—he is so annoying—One
thing is certain:—my father has gone out, and will
not return for two hours.—It is, however, so

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provoking, that I could not get rid of that old Madame
Meerschaum, in any way. There she is, snoring
away in the next room, till supper is ready.—My
voice does not interrupt her in the least, but if she
hears a strange one, she is wide awake in an instant.
So come in:—I will sit and sing to you for
an hour, and then you must be gone.—I will drop
you another bunch of violets, the next chance we
have of meeting.—How cruel of you not to come the
other day.—Ah! I forgot:—the door was locked,
and you were obliged to meet the porter!—so come
in:” and so saying, she extended me her hand, to
pilot me through the twilight into her room.

It was so evident that she was making a mistake,
and the perfect and confiding innocence of her appearance,
made it so certain to me, that she thought
herself admitting to these terms of intimacy only
one to whom she was connected by the closest bonds,
that I determined to explain myself, at all events,
and tell her who I was.

“I see that —” I began.

“Hush! — hush! — hush!—” said she, peremptorily;
“my dearest Wolf, you must really not
speak: it might cause us much embarrassment.”

“Why then the devil is in it,” thought I; “if
you will not let me speak, I certainly cannot explain.—
Well, you certainly have a talent for making
acquaintances!”—and with these thoughts in my
mind I gave her my hand, and she led me into
the room.

“I feel the troth-ring on your finger,” she

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whispered; “mine is there too, you see, — and they shall
never leave their places till they are exchanged for
the only ones which are more sacred.”

The room was not lighted except by the expiring
embers of the fire, for she informed me that she was
afraid to have candles there, as it was only under
pretext of keeping Mrs. Meerschaum company, that
she had been allowed to remain at home. I could
accordingly only distinguish that the room was a
little boudoir, evidently Ida's own peculiar sanctuary;
and that it contained, among other things, a
harp, a piano, and a table or two covered with books
and music.

“There, Sir, you are to sit down there, and promise
not to come any nearer,” said she, placing me
on a sofa, and then throwing herself at some distance
on a low seat by the window. “And now I will
sing to you the song you begged me to learn the
other day.”

Hereupon she took up her guitar, and began to sing
a pretty German ballad. During this performance
I reflected on the singular position in which I
found myself. If I spoke, old mother Meerschaum
would awake, and little Ida be exposed; and not
only be exposed in the innocent intrigue which
she was carrying on, but be discovered in intimate
connexion with an entire stranger. It was
evident that the mistake, whatever it was, had
been made by my having been seen by Ida only in
the twilight, and by the uncertain glimmering
of a single lamp; and if I were once placed in
full light, I should be recognized at once for the

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wrong person. On the other hand, I could not
reconcile it to my conscience to take advantage of
the mistake of an unsuspecting little creature.
Moreover, it was disagreeable to me to reflect, that I
might at any moment be discovered, before I had
time to discover myself, and so be upbraided for an
impostor and deceiver. On the whole, I concluded
to remain quiet for the present, and retire as soon as
she was willing to release me; and determined to
convey to her next morning a letter explaining the
mistake she had made, and my innocent imposture.

When she had concluded her ballad, she said, “I
know the song you are going to ask for, so don't say
a word, and you shall have it; but stay, I must first
look into the next room, and see what Mrs. Meerschaum
is doing. Wait one instant, I shall return
directly.” And with this she slipped into the adjoining
chamber.

When she was gone, I began to look about me.
I suddenly seized the determination to disappear
before she returned. I got up, and walked about the
room. I hesitated a little, for I was anxious in spite
of myself, to enjoy a little more of her charming
society. In the mean time I walked up, as I thought,
to a full-length mirror, and surveyed myself in the
dim twilight with complacency. I began to fondle
and arrange my moustachios, (at that period the
objects of my tenderest solicitude,) and thinking the
mirror rather dim, I reached out my hand to brush
off the dust. In so doing, I found myself unexpectedly
pulling the nose of a gentleman who stood in

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the doorway, and whose wonderful resemblance to
myself in air, height, figure, and costume, was so
striking, that I had actually taken the open door-way,
with his figure in the centre, for a large mirror
with my own reflection.

“Well,” thought I, hurriedly, “if the resemblance
is strong enough to deceive me, no wonder that poor
little Ida should have made this mistake in the twilight.”
It was no time, however, for deliberation.
A rapid reflection passed through my mind that I
had got into a scrape, and that I had better get out of it
in a most summary manner. I felt how unable I was
to account satisfactorily for my presence, and that my
staying would not help to clear up the inevitable quarrel
between Ida and her lover. Right or wrong, it was
necessary to act promptly; so I determined to knock
down my new acquaintance, and make the best of
my way out of the house. These thoughts passed
like lightning through my mind, and the execution
was almost as rapid. I floored the gentleman without
the least difficulty, for taken altogether by surprise,
he offered hardly any resistance, and then
jumping over his prostrate body, I rushed down the
stairs like a whirlwind.

I reached the street-door in an instant. Judge of
my dismay when I found it locked, and no key in
the door.

“Damnation!” I muttered in excellent English.
“What am I to do now?” I shall inevitably be
discovered, and thrown into a common jail as a thief
and a housebreaker. Very delightful prospect

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certainly! O, Ida Poodleberg!—Ida Poodleberg!—
into what a devil of a scrape have you got yourself
and me!”

In the first ebullition of my rage, I resolved to
rush into the porter's lodge, where I could still distinguish
the voices of my late antagonists, strangle
Diedrich, his wife, and the poodle —find the key to
the door, or, if I was unsuccessful, set fire to the
house, and make my escape in the general confusion.
Luckily, however, I hesitated a little to put these
desperate measures into execution, and presently
after a carriage drove up to the door.

“Run, Diedrich, man—run and open the door;
I hear the Professor's carriage,” said the portress;
and presently the porter made his appearance again
with a lantern. I gnashed my teeth in utter despair,
and gave vent to my mingled feeling of rage, disappointment,
and withal my sense of the ridiculous
absurdity of the whole affair, in a horrid and unearthly
sort of laugh.

“Ach—Herr Jesus!” shrieked the appalled porter,
letting both lantern and house-key drop from his
hand, and rushing back to his room as fast as possible.
I hastened to take advantage of this lucky catastrophe,
groped for the key, found it, fortunately, in
an instant, opened the door, and danced out, half
beside myself with joy at my final liberation.

I left old Poodleberg waiting patiently in the carriage,
and fled hastily towards my own lodgings.

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