"With years one becomes more quiet," said Otto, and gazed with
astonishment at the blind woman, who did not leave go his hand. "As
a boy I was far too merry--that could not continue; and that I
should now be grave, I have, as you will see, sufficient reason--I
have lost my last support."

"Yes, truly, truly!" repeated she slowly, and as if pondering; then
shook her head. "That is not the reason. Do you not believe in the
power of the devil? our Lord Christ forgive me! do not you believe
in the power of wicked men? There is no greater difference between
the human child and the changeling brat which the underground
spirits lay in his stead in the cradle, than there is between you
when you were a boy and you as you became during the last year of
your stay here. 'That comes from books, from so much learning,'
said I to other people. Could I only have said so to myself! But
you shall become gay; the trouble of your heart shall wither like a
poisonous weed. I know whence it sprung, and will, with God's help,
heal it. Will you solemnly promise, that no soul in the world shall
learn what we speak of in this hour?"

"What have you to say to me?" asked Otto, affected by the
extraordinary earnestness of the old woman.

"The German Heinrich, the player! You remember him well? He is to
blame for your grief! Yes, his name drives the blood more quickly
through your pulse. I feel it, even if I cannot see your face."

"The German Heinrich!" repeated Otto, and his hand really trembled.
Had Heinrich, then, when he was here three years ago, told her and