My kapellmeister's life seems a dream, a thing of the past, my
enthusiastic fondness for music a youthful folly! How money does modify
men's views of things!
And now I draw bridle before the house of the village notary, Monsieur
Becker. He has my title-deeds under his care, and is to hand them over to
me. I fasten my horse to the ring at the door, I run up the steps, and
the ancient scribe, with his bald head very respectfully uncovered, and
his long spare figure clad in a green dressing-gown with full skirts,
advances alone to receive me.
"Monsieur Caspar Haas, I have the honour to salute you."
"Your servant, Monsieur Becker."
"Pray walk in, Monsieur Haas."
"After you, sir, after you."
We cross the vestibule, and I find at the end of a small, neat, and
well-aired room a table nicely and comfortably laid, and sitting by it
a young maiden rosy and fresh-coloured, the very picture of modesty and
propriety.
The venerable notary announced me--
"Monsieur Caspar Haas!"
I bowed.
"My daughter Lothe!" added the good man.
And whilst I felt in myself a reviving taste for the beautiful, and was
admiring Mademoiselle Lothe's pretty little chubby nose, the rosy lips,
and the large blue eyes, her dainty little figure, and her dimpled hands,
Maitre Becker invited me to sit down at the table, informing me that he
had been expecting me, and that before entering on matters of business it
would be well to take a little refreshment, a glass of Bordeaux, etc.
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