coal-black eyebrows; and both young men got on well with her, in the
usual superficial way. For Maurice Guest, she had the additional
attraction, that he had once seen her in the street with the object of
his romantic fancy.

Since the afternoon when he had heard from Madeleine Wade who this
was, he had not advanced a step nearer making her acquaintance; though
a couple of weeks had passed, though he now knew two people who knew
her, and though his satisfaction at learning her name had immediately
yielded to a hunger for more. And now, hardly a day went by, on which
he did not see her. His infatuation had made him keen of scent; by
following her, with due precaution, he had found out for himself in
the BRUDERSTRASSE, the roomy old house she lived in; had found out how
she came and went. He knew her associates, knew the streets she
preferred, the hour of day at which she was to be met at the
Conservatorium. Far away, at the other end of one of the quiet streets
that lay wide and sunny about the Gewandhaus, when, to other eyes she
was a mere speck in the distance, he learned to recognise her--if only
by the speed at which his heart beat--and he even gave chase to
imaginary resemblances. Once he remained sitting in a tramway far
beyond his destination, because he traced, in one of the passengers, a
curious likeness to her, in long, wavy eyebrows that were highest in
the middle of the forehead.

Thus the pale face with the heavy eyes haunted him by day and by
night.

He was very happy and very unhappy, by turns--never at rest. If he
imagined she had looked observantly at him as she passed, he was
elated for hours after. If she did not seem to notice him, it was