Thus his resolution was at last formed. He perceived that Albert's liberation was the only price with which he could again purchase the confidence of the obstinate girl. The impressions he had received during his voluntary confinement in the cell convinced him of the unwarrantable cruelty he should commit if he allowed poor Albert to suffer unjustly any longer. The useless hours of waiting for the Prison Fairy had increased his interest in her to a longing, and the inspector's story gave him the assurance that she was worthy of a sacrifice. The simple experience of this afternoon had destroyed the web of doubt that overpowered him. He intended to treat the whole affair with the ease of a man of the world, and disarm the malicious public by a display of amiable qualities which no one could resist, and which must of course win the heart of the Prison Fairy. He was conscious of the power of his personal attractions, and, after he became accustomed to the thought of a public examination, took pleasure in the idea of making all his advantages sparkle in the light of her delighted glances. Since there was no other way of gaining possession of her, he ordered the investigation of Albert Preheim's murderous assault to be once more taken up by the courts.

A week passed away before the matter was publicly discussed, and during this time Heinrich and Henri pursued but one object: to find the Prison Fairy. But all plans were set at naught by the cunning obstinacy with which she eluded him. Ottmar went daily to the jail and showed the prisoners every conceivable kindness, but none of them could tell him anything more than that she had not come of late. The poor men were almost in despair,--it was the first time for five years that she had remained away so long. No one could explain the cause. Heinrich knew it and wondered at her firmness,--it could not be indifference that made her avoid him so anxiously; and this thought goaded his impatience to its height.

The day of the examination came. Upon this all his hopes were fixed. The galleries of the hall were crowded. Ottmar, the haughty, dreaded aristocrat, enters the lists to defend a poor, persecuted plebeian, and confesses his own error to prove the innocence of his protÉgÉ. This was the rumor that ran through the whole city. Every one wanted to see it for himself before he believed it; and instead of the malicious public he had expected, appeared a joyful throng, already half conciliated. A crowd of ladies of all ranks and ages had also assembled to see the famous Ottmar in the rÔle of a penitent sinner. It is characteristic that women in general will not pardon the smallest error if it is concealed, while, on the contrary, they will forgive the greatest sin if an appeal is made to their generosity by a frank confession. Heinrich hoped to find this experience confirmed by the Prison Fairy, and was persuaded that his conduct on this occasion would completely subdue her defiance. The examination began. All eyes were fixed compassionately upon the pallid Albert, broken down in the flower of his years, as entered the court-room with tottering steps, supported between two gendarmes.

The presiding officer opened the proceedings by a short history of the case, the statements of the absent Severinus were read aloud, and passed on for the assent of the accused and the witnesses. At first no one paid much attention to the course of affairs. They had learned five years ago that the charge against Albert was a heavy one, so they were now only curious about the examination of the witnesses, and that strange, familiar murmur of impatience became distinctly audible after the presiding officer had finished his speech. But, eagerly as the public awaited Ottmar's entrance, he still remained behind the door of the witness-box. At last the presiding officer commanded Baron von Ottmar to be summoned.

A satisfied "ah!" ran through the crowd, as a gust of wind rustles through withered leaves, when Heinrich appeared. With all the power of his natural and acquired charm of manner he revealed the psychological causes of the event, and with convincing legal acuteness represented them in their relations to the law. He forbearingly concealed the name of Albert's betrothed, and confessed his fault with the dignity of a man who, on the ground of great and noble qualities, feels entitled to rise above the errors of his youth, and has no timidity in acknowledging a wrong if by so doing he can avoid a greater one. While Heinrich was speaking he scanned the galleries, and Henri gazed into many a beautiful, joy-beaming face, but the one both sought was absent.

All hearts yearned towards Ottmar; only she for whom all had been done unsympathizingly avoided the sole opportunity which might show him in a more favorable light. And yet he could not believe it; she must be there, and had probably only concealed herself from his gaze.

This doubt aroused the greatest agitation. Almost mechanically he continued to play his part as a noble man. He had spoken so admirably that there was very little left for Albert's lawyer to say; but his thoughts were not fixed upon Albert, but the gallery; and the more firmly he was convinced that the Prison Fairy was not there, the more his joy in his good deed disappeared; he no longer dared hope to gain access to the obstinate fairy by any such means.

The court had summoned old Anton from his home to give his testimony; but he had not yet arrived, so another session must be called. If she did not appear then, he had lost the game.

Just at that moment a thought entered his mind which might place him on the right track. She could have obtained her remarkable education only in scientific circles, and had probably been reared in a very intellectual family. Ottmar proposed to make a round of visits to all the prominent literary and scientific people in N----. "She is not a native of this capital, her German is too correct for that, so I will begin with the strangers," he thought. He had hitherto confined himself exclusively to the court circle, and was entirely unknown in the society he now proposed to seek.

Sunday intervened between the first and second session of the court, and Ottmar availed himself of it. He drove around the city in his elegant carriage all the morning, and was everywhere cordially received. Many, beautiful and ugly, forward and retiring, simple and highly educated young ladies were introduced to him. She was nowhere to be found.

When he paid the last visit on his list, and there also met only unfamiliar, commonplace faces, he asked the friendly head of the household, in an under-tone, whether he could mention any particularly interesting people whom a stranger in N---- ought to know.

The old gentleman reflected a short time, and finally inquired whether he had yet heard nothing of old FrÄulein Veronica von Albin.

"Oh, you must seek her out!" he exclaimed when Heinrich answered his question in the negative. "She is a perfect original, a petrifaction of the period of sentimentality, and withal a really intellectual person, in whose salon you will find every one who has any pretensions to fame, and is enrolled under the banner of poetry and sensibility."

Wearied by his minute explanation, Heinrich expressed his thanks, inquired the way to her dwelling, and drove thither. He had made it a duty to follow every suggestion of destiny, but knew in advance that he should not find what he sought in the home of a sentimental old maid.

The carriage stopped before a massive stone house. Two colossal figures on the right and left of the door held lanterns adorned with intricate iron scroll-work in the fashion of the last century. The lower windows were grated with thick wrought-iron bars, and the heavy oaken door did not lack the shining brass lion's head, with the ring in its mouth. Above the door was a somewhat weather-beaten coat-of-arms, carved in stone, overshadowed by a tiny balcony provided with manifold sculptured ornaments and iron scrolls. Heinrich pulled the bell. The door was opened, and when he entered a statue placed in a niche in the staircase extended its arms as if in welcome.

A pleasant subdued light fell upon the stone stairs through a tall pointed window, and Heinrich, most agreeably impressed by this old-fashioned but massive luxury, mounted the broad stone steps.

A precise, respectable servant was standing on the landing, and silently ushered him into a little antechamber. Ottmar gave him his card, and he went forward on tip-toe to announce him. For a few moments Heinrich had time to admire the few but costly articles of furniture, rich carpet, and Chinese vases in the anteroom. His hopes began to sink. The quiet, pedantic spirit which breathed from these carefully preserved relics of a former century could not have trained the original, modern, enthusiastic nature of the Prison Fairy.

At last a pair of richly-carved folding-doors were thrown open. The old servant, with a low bow, silently motioned to him to approach, and Heinrich entered a large apartment, furnished in the ancient French style, with silken curtains, and a polished, inlaid floor. The sofas and chairs were of richly inlaid walnut, covered with faded but heavy yellow damask. An old-fashioned screen, ornamented with an embroidered coat-of-arms, stood before a huge stove adorned with Chinese designs. On the clumsy carved tables lay magnificent velvet, covered albums, faded and time-worn, as well as small new books of every description. A gilt eagle extended its wings over an immense mirror, and a pair of sphinxes supported a marble pier-table, bearing a clock. Family portraits, centuries old, stared solemnly from the walls, and fresh roses breathed their rich fragrance over this peaceful image of bygone days.

Almost at the same moment Ottmar entered, the lady of the house, FrÄulein Veronica von Albin, advanced through a pair of folding-doors directly opposite to him. She had a slight ethereal figure, whose movements still retained the elasticity of youth, and a pair of beautiful blue eyes sparkled in a wrinkled face, over which at least seventy years had passed. Thin white curls were carefully arranged around the kindly old forehead, and an old-fashioned but dazzlingly white morning dress rustled softly around her. She advanced, or rather floated, towards Ottmar, and held out both hands.

"You are most welcome, Herr von Ottmar," she said, with so cordial an expression that the latter bowed low in astonishment. "You wonder at my affectionate address, do you not?" she continued, offering him a chair. "It is because we always think those whom we know so well must know us. Since the public legal investigation you have become common property, and indeed such property as every one would most gladly appropriate to himself."

"Have you been present at the examination, FrÄulein?" asked Ottmar.

"Certainly; and I can assure you that I became very mach attached to you in the few hours I saw and heard you. Nothing could have afforded me greater pleasure than to receive this visit. Thank God, I am old enough to be able to tell you so without embarrassment," she continued, smiling.

Heinrich found the youthful old Lady possessed very good taste, and involuntarily thought "women are really attractive only at the beginning and end of life."

"My dear FrÄulein," he began, "you do not know how happy your kindness makes me. I am a stranger here, and seek those who will understand me. The empty life of the court no longer satisfies me. I long for something else, and come to you because I was told that I should here find what I sought; and indeed I hope if I meet with it anywhere it will be here."

"I think you may be right," said she, looking at him with winning affection. Old age, by relaxing the lids, had drawn a veil over the bright blue eyes, but a glance so full of soul, and pure youthful emotion, beamed from them that Heinrich gazed at her with increasing admiration. "Not that I imagine you could find amusement in an old woman like me, but I have the pleasure of drawing young and brilliant people around me, in whom you will surely find something to please you."

"You certainly have some relations?" asked Heinrich, expectantly.

"Not exactly relations," she said, shortly; "but it is a great mercy that God gave me the faculty of living with young persons, and that there is at least nothing repulsive in my old age. The young people cling to me, and daily bring new joys into my quiet house."

"Permit me to ask you one question, FrÄulein," said Heinrich,--then hesitated a moment, and continued in a very different tone: "How is it possible that time has passed you by without leaving more traces?"

"Yes, it is singular. I have really remained twenty years behind my true age. The machinery continued to move, but the hands were stopped by a great shock, and never overtook the time. It is a strange, sorrowful story, and some day when we are sitting by my cozy, singing tea-urn I will tell you about it."

"A sorrowful story?" asked Heinrich. "I should have thought you were very happy and contented."

"Yes, I am now. Time effaces everything, and I seem to myself like a transfigured spirit. I have no longer anxieties or wishes, look upon life calmly and impartially, and love all men. My body, as you see, is no very heavy burden, and thus, thank God, I am not so widely separated from the angels."

There was such a depth of earnestness concealed under these jesting words that Heinrich, strangely moved, passed his hand over his brow. It seemed as if a good genius with a gentle smile had raised him to a height from whence he could view at a single glance all the perishableness and emptiness of life. "Oh, who could bring heaven so near as you?" he said, at last.

"Dear friend," she replied, with a winning glance, "there is also a heaven upon earth in our own breasts. Do not seek it without, but within your heart; then you will not come into heaven for the first time when you die, but remain in it always."

"My dear FrÄulein'," pleaded Heinrich, "permit me now and then to linger a short time in yours until I have created one of my own. Will you?"

"Certainly; with the greatest pleasure. It does you honor that, without any other design, you can take pleasure in spending a few hours with an old lady like myself; and I assure you that your good intention will be rewarded,--rely upon it."

"I do not doubt it," said Heinrich; "but I ask no other reward than your favor and counsel in many things that oppress my heart."

"I will tell you,"--Veronica cast a hasty glance at the great clock. "Come and take tea with me to-morrow evening. Some of my chosen friends will be here, and I am curious to see how they will please you. One thing I can positively assure you beforehand: you will find only good men with me. Old and independent as I am, I need not receive any except those whom I love; and only such as have preserved a childlike, unassuming character (now, unfortunately, so rarely found) take pleasure in my simple nature."

"Who could be so unfeeling as to find no charm in you?" said Heinrich.

"Who? Alas! unfortunately there are many. Believe me, our young people are now very old. When I think how it used to be in my time! There are no longer any illusions,--any enthusiasms. I have often talked to young people who seemed so old that I have asked myself with shame, 'Oh, God! am I really so childlike, or already so childish, that the young people of the present day are so much wiser and more steady?' And that is not the worst. I have always seen that the childlike or childish old woman is much happier in her simple existence than all these hopeful young persons, upon whom life still smiles with rosy hues; and it makes me feel sad."

"She might have educated the Prison Fairy;" thought Heinrich, and at last determined to ask her; but Veronica, without allowing herself to be interrupted, continued, with the loquacity of age: "I know they call me the Sensitive Plant, because I have preserved my quick feelings and ready tears; but I do not think they are mocking me, for they know I play no sentimental comedy, but rejoice with those who rejoice, and even follow with sincere interest the struggles of the age, although they do not please me. To me the only true voices are those that speak from sentiment and in its behalf; therefore I must confess that I prefer them to the modern spirit of speculation, piquant as it is, and shall listen to them devoutly until death some day solves for me the mystery of life." She again glanced at the clock and made Heinrich a confused apology for having chattered so long.

Heinrich could do nothing but take leave, and was compelled to defer receiving the ardently desired assurance until the morrow; he bowed as low and as frequently as possible, and withdrew from the apartment as slowly as he could. The lock of the door stuck in his hand as if it were bewitched, and he was so absentminded that he was obliged to pause some time in the ante-chamber to remember which was the way out; he did not know where he was or what he was doing. Meantime bitter reflections upon his hasty dismissal, his own strange embarrassment, which had made the harmless question falter on his lips more and more the longer he delayed it, until at last he could no longer utter it; upon the old lady's loquacity, which had not allowed him to speak: in short, the striking of a large cuckoo-clock, which also seemed to jeer at him, first made him aware that he must at last leave the house. With a despairing glance at the different doors he went away, and on reaching the carriage could not help laughing at himself. Heinrich scoffed at Henri, and Henri derided Heinrich. An impulse of rejoicing over something, he knew not what, overpowered him.