took a notion to say:—"What has become, dear master Krespel, of our good Antonia?"
The counsellor made a grimace like an epicure who bites a sour orange; his countenance darkened, and his look became very disagreeable, when he answered through his teeth,
"Our own dear Antonia?"
The professor, who perceived the effect that this unlucky question produced, cast a reproachful look on his niece, and as if to divest the ill humor of Krespel:—"How go the violins?" exclaimed he, pressing the hand of his guest in a friendly manner. Krespel's countenance changed in an instant.
"They go very well, my dear professor. I have begun to take to pieces Amati's celebrated violin, that a lucky chance has lately made me possessor of; I hope that Antonia has done the rest."
"Antonia is an amiable girl," continued the professor.
"Yes, certainly, she is an angel!" exclaimed Krespel, sobbing; and, suddenly taking his hat and cane, he precipitately went away, like a man beside himself. Struck with this singularity, I questioned the professor concerning the history of the counsellor,
"Ah!" said he to me, "he is a very singular man, who makes violins as skilfully as he draws up memorials; as soon as he has finished one of these instruments, he tries it for an hour or two, and it is a delicious music to hear; then he hangs it upon the wall with others, and never touches it again. If he succeeds in procuring the violin of a celebrated master, he buys it, plays on it once, takes it to pieces, and throws the pieces in a chest which is already nearly filled."
"But who is Antonia?" asked I impatiently.
"That is a mystery," gravely replied the professor.
The counsellor lived several years ago, in an isolated house, with an old housekeeper. The singularity of his manners excited the curiosity of the neighborhood. To withdraw himself from it, he formed some acquaintances and showed him-
