"Can you forgive yourself the manner in which youspoke of a lady to whom we both owe great respect?"
"I spoke very frankly!"said Felix."In high societyone can also talk with a razor edge，but no one takes thatvery seriously;it is the salt for the tasteless，everyday fishdinner，as the poet calls it.We are all just a little spite-ful.You can also let a drop fall，my friend，a little drop ofinnocence that smarts!"
Soon they were seen arm in arm again.Felix wellknew that more than one pretty young lady who otherwisewould have passed him by without looking at him now no-ticed him because he was walking with the"idol of thestage."The footlights always cast a glamour over the the-ater's hero and lover，and it still shines about him when heshows himself on the street，in daylight，though it is moreor less extinguished then.Most of the artists of the stageare like swans;one should see them in their element，noton the paving stones or the public promenade.There areexceptions，however，and to these belonged our youngfriend.His personality off the stage never disturbed theconception one had of him as George Brown，or Hamlet，orLohengrin.To many a young heart these poetical and musi-cal figures were the artist himself and rose to the exaltationof their ideal.He knew that this was the case and found asort of pleasure in it.He was happy in his art and with thetalents he possessed;still a shadow would come over thehappy young face，and then from the piano would sound themelody to the words：
All vanishes，everything goes，
Your youth，your hope，and your friend.
Everything passes，like the wind that blows，
Never to return，only to end!
"How mournful!"said the widow baroness."Youhave good fortune in full measure.I know no one who is asfortunate as you."
"Call no one fortunate before he is in his grave，thewise Solon said，"he replied，and smiled through his se-riousness."It would be wrong ，a sin ，if I were not thank-ful and happy in my heart.I am that.I am thankful forwhat is entrusted to me，but I myself set a different valueon this than others do.It is a beautiful piece of fireworksthat soars forth and then goes out!So it is with the stageactor's work.The everlasting shining stars may be forgot-ten for the meteors of a moment，but when these are ex-tinguished，there is no lasting trace of them other thanwhat may be found in old records.A new generation doesnot know and cannot picture to itself those who delightedtheir grandfathers from the stage;the youth of today per-haps applauds the luster of brass as fervently and loudlyas the old folks once did the luster of pure gold.Far morefortunately placed than the performing artist are the poet，the sculptor，the painter，and the composer.They oftenexperience trying conditions in the struggle of life and missthe merited appreciation，while those who exhibit theirworks live in luxury and in arrogance born of idolatry.
"Let the mob stand and admire the bright-coloredcloud and forget the sun;the cloud vanishes，but the sunshines and beams for new generations."
He sat at the piano and improvised with a richnessof thought and a power such as he never before hadshown.
"Wonderfully beautiful!"broke in the widowbaroness."It was as if I heard the story of a whole life-time.You gave your heart's song in the music."
"I thought of the Thousand and One Nights，"saidthe young girl，"of the lamp of fortune，of Aladdin!"Andshe looked at him with innocent，tearful eyes.
"Aladdin!"he repeated.
That evening was the turning point in his life.Anew chapter surely began.
What happened to him during this fast-moving year?His fresh color left his cheeks，though his eyes shonefar more clearly than before.He passed sleepless nights，but not in wild orgies，in revels and drinking，as so manygreat artists.He became less talkative，but more cheerful.
"What is it that fills you so?" said his friend，thesinging master."You do not confide everything to me!"
"I think of how fortunate I am!"he replied."I thinkof the poor boy!I think of-Aladdin!"