investigated　and　thoroughly　mastered；　I　was　flattered　at　the
  opportunity　of　a　victorious　display。
  The　pleasure　of　my　triumph　diffused　itself　over　my　feelings　towards
  him　who　had　been　the　occasion　of　it。　　The　Frenchman　was　silenced；
  the　general　verdict　of　the　company　was　too　obviously　on　our　side。
  From　this　time　the　conversation　continued　between　Bourgonef　and
  myself；　and　he　not　only　succeeded　in　entirely　dissipating　my　absurd
  antipathywhich　I　now　saw　to　have　been　founded　on　purely　imaginary
  grounds；　for　neither　the　falseness　nor　the　furtiveness　could　now　be
  detectedbut　he　succeeded　in　captivating　all　my　sympathy。　　Long
  after　dinner　was　over；　and　the　salle　empty；　we　sat　smoking　our
  cigars；　and　discussing　politics；　literature；　and　art　in　that
  suggestive　desultory　manner　which　often　gives　a　charm　to　casual
  acquaintances。
  It　was　a　stirring　epoch；　that　of　February；　1848。　　The　Revolution；
  at　first　so　hopeful；　and　soon　to　manifest　itself　in　failure　so
  disastrous；　was　hurrying　to　an　outburst。　　France　had　been　for　many
  months　agitated　by　cries　of　electoral　reform；　and　by　indignation　at
  the　corruption　and　scandals　in　high　places。　　The　Praslin　murder；
  and　the　dishonor　of　M。　Teste；　terminated　by　suicide；　had　been
  interpreted　as　signs　of　the　coming　destruction。　　The　political
  banquets　given　in　various　important　cities　had　been　occasions　for
  inflaming　the　public　mind；　and　to　the　far…seeing；　these　banquets
  were　interpreted　as　the　sounds　of　the　tocsin。　　Louis　Philippe　had
  become　odious　to　France；　and　contemptible　to　Europe。　　Guizot　and
  Duchatel；　the　ministers　of　that　day；　although　backed　by　a
  parliamentary　majority　on　which　they　blindly　relied；　were
  unpopular；　and　were　regarded　as　infatuated　even　by　their　admirers
  in　Europe。　　The　Spanish　marriages　had　all　but　led　to　a　war　with
  England。　　The　Opposition；　headed　by　Thiers　and　Odillon　Barrot；　was
  strengthened　by　united　action　with　the　republican　party；　headed　by
  Ledru　Rollin；　Marrast；　Flocon；　and　Louis　Blanc。
  Bourgonef　was　an　ardent　republican。　　So　was　I；　but　my　color　was　of
  a　different　shade　from　his。　　He　belonged　to　the　Reds。　　My　own
  dominant　tendencies　being　artistic　and　literary；　my　dream　was　of　a
  republic　in　which　intelligence　would　be　the　archon　or　ruler；　and；
  of　course；　in　such　a　republic；　art　and　literature；　as　the　highest
  manifestation　of　mind；　would　have　the　supreme　direction。　　Do　you
  smile；　reader？　　I　smile　now；　but　it　was　serious　earnest　with　me
  then。　　It　is　unnecessary　to　say　more　on　this　point。　　I　have　said　so
  much　to　render　intelligible　the　stray　link　of　communion　which
  riveted　the　charm　of　my　new　acquaintance's　conversation；　there　was
  both　agreement　enough　and　difference　enough　in　our　views　to　render
  our　society　mutually　fascinating。
  On　retiring　to　my　room　that　afternoon　I　could　not　help　laughing　at
  my　absurd　antipathy　against　Bourgonef。　　All　his　remarks　had
  disclosed　a　generous；　ardent；　and　refined　nature。　　While　my
  antipathy　had　specially　fastened　upon　a　certain　falseness　in　his
  smilea　falseness　the　more　poignantly　hideous　if　it　were
  falseness；　because　hidden　amidst　the　wreaths　of　amiabilitymy
  delight　in　his　conversation　had　specially　justified　itself　by　the
  truthfulness　of　his　mode　of　looking　at　things。　　He　seemed　to　be
  sincerity　itself。　　There　was；　indeed；　a　certain　central　reserve；
  but　that　might　only　he　an　integrity　of　pride；　or　it　might　be
  connected　with　painful　circumstances　in　his　history；　of　which　the
  melancholy　in　his　face　was　the　outward　sign。
  That　very　evening　my　constructive　imagination　was　furnished　with　a
  detail　on　which　it　was　soon　to　be　actively　set　to　work。　　I　had　been
  rambling　about　the　old　fortifications；　and　was　returning　at
  nightfall　through　the　old　archway　near　Albert　Durer's　house；　when　a
  man　passed　by　me。　　We　looked　at　each　other　in　that　automatic　way　in
  which　men　look　when　they　meet　in　narrow　places；　and　I　felt；　so　to
  speak；　a　start　of　recognition　in　the　eyes　of　the　man　who　passed。
  Nothing　else；　in　features　or　gestures；　betrayed　recognition　or
  surprise。　　But　although　there　was　only　that；　it　flashed　from　his
  eyes　to　mine　like　an　electric　shock。　　He　passed。　　I　looked　back。
  He　continued　his　way　without　turning。　　The　face　was　certainly　known
  to　me；　but　it　floated　in　a　mist　of　confused　memories。
  I　walked　on　slowly；　pestering　my　memory　with　fruitless　calls　upon
  it；　hopelessly　trying　to　recover　the　place　where　I　could　have　seen
  the　stranger　before。　　In　vain　memory　traveled　over　Europe　in
  concert…rooms；　theaters；　shops；　and　railway　carriages。　　I　could　not
  recall　the　occasion　on　which　those　eyes　had　previously　met　mine。
  That　they　had　met　them　I　had　no　doubt。　　I　went　to　bed　with　the
  riddle　undiscovered。
  II
  THE　ECHOES　OF　MURDER
  Next　morning　Nuremberg　was　agitated　with　a　horror　such　as　can
  seldom　have　disturbed　its　quiet；　a　young　and　lovely　girl　had　been
  murdered。　　Her　corpse　was　discovered　at　daybreak　under　the　archway
  leading　to　the　old　fortifications。　　She　had　been　stabbed　to　the
  heart。　　No　other　signs　of　violence　were　visible；　no　robbery　had
  been　attempted。
  In　great　cities；　necessarily　great　centers　of　crime；　we　daily　hear
  of　murders；　their　frequency　and　remoteness　leave　us　undisturbed。
  Our　sympathies　can　only　be　deeply　moved　either　by　some　scenic
  peculiarities　investing　the　crime　with　unusual　romance　or　unusual
  atrocity；　or　else　by　the　more　immediate　appeal　of　direct　neighborly
  interest。　　The　murder　which　is　read　of　in　the　Times　as　having
  occurred　in　Westminster；　has　seldom　any　special　horror　to　the
  inhabitants　of　Islington　or　Oxford　Street；　but　to　the　inhabitants
  of　Westminster；　and　especially　to　the　inhabitants　of　the　particular
  street　in　which　it　was　perpetrated；　the　crime　assumes　heart…shaking
  proportions。　　Every　detail　is　asked　for；　and　every　surmise　listened
  to；　with　feverish　eagerness　is　repeated　and　diffused　through　the
  crowd　with　growing　interest。　　The　family　of　the　victim；　the
  antecedents　of　the　assassin；　if　he　is　known；　or　the　conjectures
  pointing　to　the　unknown　assassin；are　eagerly　discussed。　　All　the
  trivial　details　of　household　care　or　domestic　fortunes；　all　the
  items　of　personal　gossip；　become　invested　with　a　solemn　and
  affecting　interest。　　Pity　for　the　victim　and　survivors　mingle　and
  alternate　with　fierce　cries　for　vengeance　on　the　guilty。　　The　whole
  street　becomes　one　family；　commingled　by　an　energetic　sympathy；
  united　by　one　common　feeling　of　compassion　and　wrath。
  In　villages；　and　in　cities　so　small　as　Nuremberg；　the　same
  community　of　feeling　is　manifested。　　The　town　became　as　one　street。
  The　horror　spread　like　a　conflagration；　the　sympathy　surged　and
  swelled　like　a　tide。　　Everyone　felt　a　personal　interest　in　the
  event；　as　if　the　murder　had　been　committed　at　his　own　door。　　Never
  shall　I　forget　that　wail　of　passionate　pity；　and　that　cry　for　the
  vengeance　of　justice；　which　rose　from　all　sides　of　the　startled
  city。　　Never　shall　I　forget　the　hurry；　the　agitation；　the　feverish
  restlessness；　the　universal　communicativeness；　the　volunteered
  services；　the　eager　suggestion；　surging　round　the　house　of　the
  unhappy　parents。　　Herr　Lehfeldt；　the　father　of　the　unhappy　girl；
  was　a　respected　burgher　known　to　almost　every　one。　　His　mercer's
  shop　was　the　leading　one　of　the　city。　　A　worthy；　pious　man；
  somewhat　strict；　but　of　irreproachable　character；　his　virtues；　no
  less　than　those　of　his　wife；　and　of　his　only　daughter；　Lieschen
  now；　alas；　for　ever　snatched　from　their　yearning　eyeswere
  canvassed　everywhere；　and　served　to　intensify　the　general　grief。
  That　such　a　calamity　should　have　fallen　on　a　household　so
  estimable；　seemed　to　add　fuel　to　the　people's　wrath。　　Poor
  Lieschen！　her　pretty；　playful　waysher　opening　prospects；　as　the
  only　daughter　of　parents　so　well　to　do　and　so　kindher　youth　and
  abounding　lifethese　were　detailed　with　impassioned　fervor　by
  friends；　and　repeated　by　strangers　who　caught　the　tone　of　friends；
  as　if　they；　too；　had　known　and　loved　her。　　But　amidst　the　surging
  uproar　of　this　sea　of　many　voices　no　one　clear　voice　of　direction
  could　be　heard；　no　clue　given　to　the　clamorous　bloodhounds　to　run
  down　the　assassin。
  Cries　had　been　heard　in　the　streets　that　night　at　various　parts　of
  the　town；　which；　although　then　interpreted　as　the　quarrels　of
  drunken　brawlers；　and　the　conflicts　of　cats；　were　now　confidently
  asserted　to　have　proceeded　from　the　unhappy　girl　in　her　death…
  struggle。　　But　none　of　these　cries　had　been　heard　in　the　immediate
  neighborhood　of　the　archway。　　All　the　inhabitants　of　that　part　of
  the　town　agreed　that　in　their　waking　hours　the　streets　had　been
  perfectly　still。　　Nor　were　there　any　traces　visible　of　a　struggle
  having　taken　place。　　Lieschen　might　have　been　murdered　elsewhere；
  and　her　corpse　quietly　deposited　where　it　was　found；　as　far　as　any
  evidence　went。
  Wild　and　vague　were　the　conjectures。　　All　were　baffled　in　the
  attempt　to　give　them　a　definite　direction。　　The　c