As he moved to and fro in the crowd like a rudderless ship amid the waves, Fink took him in tow, and said, "I say, you hypocrite, you have either drunk sweet wine, or you are a quiet sort of Don Juan. How long have you known the Rothsattel? You have never spoken of her to me. She has a lovely figure and a classical face. Has she any sense?"
At that moment how unspeakably Anton despised his friend! Such an expression as that could only proceed from the most degraded of human beings.
"Sense!" exclaimed he, casting on Fink a look of deadly enmity; "he who doubts it must be utterly devoid of sense himself."
"Well, well!" exclaimed Fink, in amazement; "I am not in that melancholy plight, for I think the girl, or rather the young lady, uncommonly lovely; and, had I not some small engagements elsewhere, I might feel constrained to choose her for the mistress of my affections. As it is, I can only admire her afar off."
"You are right," said Anton, squeezing his arm.
"Really," returned Fink, in his usual careless tone, "you begin well, it must be allowed; go on, my son, and prosper."
And Anton did go on, and did his Mentor honor. He was indeed intoxicated, but not with wine. The music, the excitement of the dance, the gay scene around, inspired him; he felt self-confident, nay, daring; and, one or two trifling solecisms excepted, behaved as if he had been surrounded by waxlights and obsequious domestics all the days of his life. He was a good deal remarked—made, indeed, quite a sensation; while dark hints of a mystery attached to him spread from corner to corner of the spacious rooms.
At length came the cotillon. Anton sought out Lenore, who exclaimed, "I knew that you would dance it with me!" This was to both the happiest part of the whole happy evening.
As to all that followed, it was a mere indistinct vision. Anton was dimly conscious of walking about with Fink, of talking and laughing with him and others, of bowing before the lady of the house, and murmuring his thanks; of having his paletot reached him by a servant, and of putting something into his hand; but all this was shadowy and unreal. He only saw one thing clearly: a white cloak, with a silk hood and a tassel—oh, that tassel! Once more the large eyes shone full upon him, and he heard the whispered words, "Good-night!" Then came an uninteresting dream of going up stairs with Fink, and but half hearing his jesting comments; of entering a small room, lighting a lamp, and wondering whether it was really here he lived; of slowly undressing, and at length falling asleep.