No—the love was obvious, indubitable. That settled, he tried to picture to himself the beloved one’s, the heavenly creature’s, mundane circumstances. And there was no great difficulty in that; she had been walking with her old father, had suddenly discovered that it was past twelve o’clock, and had hastily said good-bye for the present, in order to go home and see to the dinner. For she was doubtless domestic, this sweet creature, and evidently motherless.
The last conjecture was, perhaps, a result of the dread of mothers-in-law inculcated by all reputable authors; but it was none the less confident on that account. And now it only remained for Cousin Hans to discover, in the first place, where she lived, in the second place who she was, and in the third place how he could make her acquaintance.
Where she lived he would soon learn, for was she not on her way home? Who she was, he could easily find out from the neighbors. And as for making her acquaintance—good heavens! is not a little difficulty an indispensable part of a genuine romance?
Just as the chase was at its height, the quarry disappeared into a gate-way; and it was really high time, for, truth to tell, the hunter was rather exhausted.
He read with a certain relief the number, “34,” over the gate, then went a few steps farther on, in order to throw any possible observer off the scent, and stopped beside a street-lamp to recover his breath. It was, as aforesaid, a warm day; and this, combined with his violent emotion, had thrown Hans into a strong perspiration. His toilet, too, had been disarranged by the reckless eagerness with which he had hurled himself into the chase.
He could not help smiling at himself, as he stood and wiped his face and neck, adjusted his necktie, and felt his collar, which had melted on the sunny side. But it was a blissful smile, he was in that frame of mind in which one sees, or at any rate apprehends, nothing of the external world; and he said to himself, half aloud, “Love endures everything, accepts everything.”
“And perspires freely,” said a fat little gentleman whose white waistcoat suddenly came within Cousin Hans’s range of vision.
“Oh, is that you, uncle?” he said, a little abashed.
“Of course it is,” answered Uncle Frederick. “I’ve left the shady side of the street expressly to save you from being roasted. Come along with me.”
Thereupon he tried to drag his nephew with him, but Hans resisted. “Do you know who lives at No. 34, uncle?”