"Upon whom?" cried Helen, suddenly aroused from her dreams.
"Upon Doctor Stein! your Doctor Stein!" replied Sophie, as indifferently as if she had never given a thought to the relations which might possibly exist between Oswald and Helen.
"When did you see him?" asked Helen again, in her ordinary calmly-grand manner.
"Last night, here; for the first time. He had been two days in town without having seen Franz. Yesterday Franz met him accidentally in the street, and brought him home with him. Otherwise we should probably have had to wait a long time for his visit."
"How so?"
"Well, it did not look as if the visit gave him particular pleasure. Still I can hardly judge of that fairly, as yesterday was the first time I ever saw him. But to tell the truth, he looked to me as if nothing in the world was likely to give him much pleasure. Franz says it is not so at all, but he admitted that Mr. Stein had changed remarkably in the short time during which they had not seen each other. How was he when you knew him?"
Sophie thought she felt that Helen's heart was beating higher, as she asked this very harmless question. Yet she did not show any excitement in her voice, as she answered:
"I have seldom seen Mr. Stein except in company and, you know, there we have very little opportunity to see men as they really are. He looked to me generally very grave, almost sad, reserved, and silent, especially during the last weeks. But the state of things in my family at that time was such as to produce very naturally such an effect. How was he yesterday?"
"That is difficult to say for one who is as little of a psychologist as I am," replied Sophie, determined to tell the truth, even if it should hurt Helen. "He looked to me gay, almost exuberant, but not cheerful; talkative, but not communicative; witty, but not entertaining; in one word, a combination of striking contrasts, which produced a very painful impression on me, because I love, above all, what is clear, easily intelligible and simple. I was especially shocked at the manner in which he spoke about his position here and his vocation in life. He seemed to look upon everything as mere play. He gave us a sketch of a party to which he had been invited at Mr. Clemens's house, and poured a perfect flood of irony and sarcasm on the poor people. He described his solemn installation at the college, which had taken place that morning, and represented the whole as a scene in a puppet-show. Franz tells me he has something of Doctor Faust in his nature; to me he looked rather like Mephistopheles. Nor did I think him so very handsome, as Franz had represented him. He looked pale and haggard, as if he were sick, or had not slept for several nights. His large eyes had an expression weird and ghost-like. I had all the time to think of the lines: 'It is written on his brow, that he can make no vow of faithful love'--or however the verse may be."
"Then he must indeed have changed very much," said Helen.