“Is it not on this account that he is the favorite composer in our world of fashion?”
“Very possibly; but I am sure he would give much not to be so on this account!”
Their discourse was here interrupted; for many newly arrived guests took their places at the table. The glasses were rapidly emptied and replenished; the conversation became general, and assumed more and more of a jovial character.
An elegant groom of the chambers, whom a mischievous lieutenant of the guard had enticed thither, and introduced, before he was aware, into the midst of the company, occasioned infinite amusement among the guests, whose unbridled festivity he endeavored to awe by a mien of importance. His efforts, however, produced a contrary effect from that which he intended; and after he had joined the revellers in pledging a few toasts, he was himself the merriest of all. He laughed, he strode about—he clapped applause. Friedemann watched the scene with secret pleasure; it nourished the scorn which he, in common with others who stand ill with themselves, cherished for the whole human race. He could not refrain, now and then, from stealing a glance at the corner where Hasse sat, apparently indifferent to all that was passing about him.
“Apropos—sir groom!” cried Scherbitz, suddenly—“what was that admirable poem you had the pleasure of presenting to a famous artiste, a few days ago?”
The groom winked at him with a smile, pursed up his mouth, and said, “Monsieur Scherbitz, at your service—the poem runs in this way—
“On earth’s warm breast the pensile beams fall goldenly and bright—
The mountain gales, the merry flowers—are swelling with delight;
But nothing can such rapture yield unto this heart of mine,
As—Oh, Faustina Hasse, that radiant neck of thine!”