The time is Christmas Eve. Before the close of the afternoon Reinhard
and some other students were sitting together at an old oak table in the
Ratskeller.[2]
[2] The basement of the Rathaus or Town Hall. This, in almost every
German town of importance, has become a restaurant and place of
refreshment.
The lamps on the wall were lighted, for down here in the basement it was
already growing dark; but there was only a thin sprinkling of customers
present, and the waiters were leaning idly up against the pillars let
into the walls.
In a corner of the vaulted room sat a fiddler and a fine-featured
gipsy-girl with a zither; their instruments lay in their laps, and
they seemed to be looking about them with an air of indifference.
A champagne cork popped off at the table occupied by the students.
"Drink, my gipsy darling!" cried a young man of aristocratic
appearance, holding out to the girl a glass full of wine.
"I don't care about it," she said, without altering her position.
"Well, then, give us a song," cried the young nobleman, and threw a
silver coin into her lap. The girl slowly ran her fingers through her
black hair while the fiddler whispered in her ear. But she threw back
her head, and rested her chin on her zither.
"For him," she said, "I'm not going to play."
Reinhard leapt up with his glass in his hand and stood in front of
her.
"What do you want?" she asked defiantly.
"To have a look at your eyes."
"What have my eyes to do with you?"