“Come now, Teddy,” she kept crying, “come, Uncle, don’t be such an old bore.” She kept getting closer and closer to him.
“You wait, I’ll show you how to make a fool of respectable people,” croaked Herr Carovius in well-meaning anger. He resembled an old dog, hopping about and getting ready to make the plunge when his master throws his walking stick into the water. In his zeal, however, to prevent the girl from offending his dignity, he had forgotten the paper crown on his head. It wabbled and shook so when he hopped around, that the girl nearly split her sides laughing.
A maid came in just then with an apronful of snow. The girl with the sweeping train ran up to her, got some of the snow, and threatened to pelt Herr Carovius with it. He begged for mercy; and rather than undergo a bombardment with this cold stuff, he ceased offering resistance, whereupon the girl walked up to him and placed the mask on his face. Then, exhausted from laughter, she laid her head on his shoulder. The maid—it was Döderlein’s maid—was delighted at the comedy, and made a noise that resembled the cackling of a hen.
The scene was dimly lighted by a lamp attached to the adjacent wall, and had on this account, quite apart from the sight of Herr Carovius with the paper crown and the toper’s mask, something fantastic about it.
Daniel did not know that the girl was Dorothea Döderlein, though he half suspected as much. But whoever she was, he was impressed by her jollity, her actual lust for laughter, her complete lack of restraint. He had never known that sort of mirthful hilarity; and if he had known it, he could not recall it. Her youthful features, her bright eyes, her white teeth, her agile gestures filled him with deferential respect; his eyes swam with emotion. He felt so old, so foreign; he felt that where he was the sun was not shining, the flowers were not budding. He felt that life had appeared to him all of a sudden and quite unexpectedly in a new, kindly, bewitching light.
He came slowly down the steps.
“Is it possible!” cried Herr Carovius, tearing the mask from his face. “Can I trust my own eyes? It is our maestro! Or is it his ghost?”
“It is both he and his ghost,” replied Daniel drily.
“This is no place for ghosts,” cried Dorothea, and threw a snow ball, hitting him square on the shoulder.