All the strange adventures he had met with
again rose on his mind in glowing colors; and a nameless emotion
of rapture and pain thrilled through his breast. Involuntarily he
exclaimed, with a most piteous voice: "Ah, am I not going to
the Archivarius solely for a sight of thee, thou gentle lovely
Serpentina!" At that moment he felt as if Serpentina's love might be
the prize of some laborious perilous task which he had to undertake,
and as if this task were no other than the copying of the Lindhorst
manuscripts. That at his very entrance into the house, or, more
properly, before his entrance, all manner of mysterious things might
happen, as of late, was no more than he anticipated. He thought no
more of Conradi's strong water, but hastily put the vial of liqueur
in his waistcoat-pocket that he might act strictly by the Archivarius'
directions, should the bronzed Apple-woman again take it upon her to
make faces at him.
And did not the hawk-nose actually peak itself, did not the cat-eyes
actually glare from the knocker, as he raised his hand to it, at the
stroke of twelve? But now, without further ceremony, he dribbled his
liqueur into the pestilent visage; and it folded and molded itself,
that instant, down to a glittering bowl-round knocker. The door went
up; the bells sounded beautifully over all the house: "Klingling,
youngling, in, in, spring, spring, klingling." In good heart he
mounted the fine broad stair and feasted on the odors of some strange
perfumery that was floating through the house.
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