There was nothing at the
Opera, so he decided to spend the earlier part of the evening in the
public gardens. He was lonely; he had always been lonely. Men who carry
depressing secrets generally are. He searched covertly among the many
faces for one that was familiar, but he saw none; and he was at once
glad, and sorry. Yes, there was one face; the rubicund countenance of
the bandmaster. It was older, more wrinkled, but it was the same. How
many years had the old fellow swung the baton? At least thirty years. In
his boyhood days Grumbach had put that brilliant uniform side by side
with the grand duke's. As it was impossible for him ever to become a
duke, his ambition had been to arrive at the next greatest thing--the
bandmaster. As he neared the pavilion he laughed silently and grimly. To
have grown wealthy as a master plumber instead! So much for ambition!
Subsequently he found himself standing beside a young vintner and his
peasant sweetheart. Their hands secretly met and locked behind their
backs. Grumbach sighed. Never would he know aught of this double love.
This Eden would never have any gate for him to push aside. He would
always go his way alone.
The girl turned her head. Seeing Grumbach, she loosened the vintner's
hand.
"Do not mind me, girl," said Grumbach, his face broadening.
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