I alighted in the dark arbor, which was
named after me, and where they would be sure also this time to await
me. The mother met me, care-free and joyous. Mina sat there, pale and
lovely as the first snow which often in the autumn kisses the
last flowers and then instantly dissolves into bitter water. The
Forest-master went agitatedly to and fro, a written paper in his
hand, and appeared to force down many things in himself which painted
themselves with rapidly alternating flushes and paleness on his
otherwise immovable countenance. He came up to me as I entered, and
with frequently choked words begged to speak with me alone. The path
in which he invited me to follow him, led us toward an open, sunny
part of the garden. I sank speechless on a seat, and then followed a
long silence which even the good mother dared not interrupt.
The Forest-master raged continually with unequal steps to and fro in
the arbor, and, suddenly halting before me, glanced on the paper which
he held, and demanded of me with a searching look--
"May not, Count, a certain Peter Schlemihl be not quite unknown
to you?" I was silent. "A man of superior character and singular
attainments--" He paused for an answer.
"And suppose I were the same man?"
"Who," added he vehemently--"has, by some means, lost his shadow!"
"Oh, my foreboding, my foreboding!" exclaimed Mina. "Yes, I have long
known it, he has no shadow;" and she flung herself into the arms of
her mother, who, terrified, clasped her convulsively, and upbraided
her that to her own hurt she had kept to herself such a secret.
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