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O sang Olympia van den Ende, and drew out the long resounding notes of her small organ in powerful chords as her father entered the room.

"You have quite risen to your paradise of song to-day again," said he, "and are no longer aware of what happens below in our unmusical world. We passed your room an hour ago. I have brought the much spoken of M. de Spinoza here with me at last. Allow me to introduce my daughter; she is accredited minister in my sacred doctrinal office; you must be on good terms with her."

"My father has spoken to me of you whenever he returned from your house," said Olympia, "and I am rejoiced to see my wish fulfilled at last. But though I have heard so much about you, I see now that I had quite a false conception of your personal appearance. Tell me, since you are a philosopher, may I not take that as a proof that all our impressions of persons and things lying out of our