With a sudden start the wretched man rushed away and was presently hid among the branches of the trees. A whistle was heard just then, and a lad, walking briskly, followed, hallooing after him. He came just in time. A stream, a branch of the Pleysse, watered the bottom of the valley; Mara was about to throw himself into it in the deepest spot, when his arm was caught by his pursuer.
“What the mischief are you about?”
“Let me alone!” cried Mara, struggling.
“Do you mean to be drowned?”
“Yes; that is just what I want. I came here for that purpose. And what have you to say against it, Friedrich?”
“Nothing, if your fancy runs that way,” replied the lad, laughing. “Only you have plenty of leisure for it hereafter, and just now you are wanted.”
“Wanted?”
“Yes; I came to look for you.”
“Who wants the poor drunkard, Mara?”
“They want you at Breithoff’s to-night, at the supper given to Mozart after the concert, and you must bring your instrument; we are to have some rare fun. Come, if you are obedient, you shall go with me to the concert.”