"By whom, Friedemann?"
Friedemann colored as he answered, "I know I am wrong to be disturbed by the malignity of a shallow fool; but I cannot help it. There is a critic in Halle, one schoolmaster Kniffe, who passes for a luminary in the musical horizon, and writes reviews."
"I have seen them; they are absurd," said Sebastian. "He must cause some sport in Halle."
"On the contrary, he is dreaded on account of his malice; and his base libels please the ill-natured and envious."
"And know you not," asked his father, "that only the base and evil array themselves against the good? Is there a more certain proof of elevated worth than the impotent rage and opposition of the vicious? I never taught you to look with pride or arrogance on your equals or inferiors; but to be calm and self-possessed, and to maintain your ground in reliance on Him to whom alone you are accountable. Do that, Friedemann, and no stupid or malicious critic can make you dissatisfied with yourself."
Here Caroline came in, announcing that a stranger wished to speak with her father.
"He would not," she said, "give his name."
Sebastian bade her bring him in. Presently a sharp voice called out,
"Bon soir, mon cher papa!" and the stranger entered and took the old man's hand. "Do you not know me?"
Friedemann recognized him, and saluted Monsieur von Scherbitz.