'If I were married!' he thought suddenly.

Herr Paul, with a somewhat vinous glare, still muttered, "But your duty
to the family!"

Harz slipped through the window. The moon was like a wonderful white
lantern in the purple sky; there was but a smoulder of stars. Beneath
the softness of the air was the iciness of the snow; it made him want to
run and leap. A sleepy beetle dropped on its back; he turned it over and
watched it scurry across the grass.

Someone was playing Schumann's Kinderscenen. Harz stood still to listen.
The notes came twining, weaving round his thoughts; the whole night
seemed full of girlish voices, of hopes and fancies, soaring away to
mountain heights--invisible, yet present. Between the stems of the
acacia-trees he could see the flicker of white dresses, where Christian
and Greta were walking arm in arm. He went towards them; the blood
flushed up in his face, he felt almost surfeited by some sweet emotion.
Then, in sudden horror, he stood still. He was in love! With nothing
done with everything before him! He was going to bow down to a face! The
flicker of the dresses was no longer visible. He would not be fettered,
he would stamp it out! He turned away; but with each step, something
seemed to jab at his heart.

Round the corner of the house, in the shadow of the wall, Dominique, the
Luganese, in embroidered slippers, was smoking a long cherry-wood pipe,
leaning against a tree--Mephistopheles in evening clothes. Harz went up
to him.