s if he despised it as a friend who only remained
faithful as long as it was kept warm itself. The money he had last
received, for illustrating a book of soldiers' songs, had long since
been spent. It is true, a dealer in antiquities had made him a very
considerable offer for an old casket with a skillfully-ornamented
silver cover, which was said to have originally belonged to no less a
person than General Illo. But he could not make up his mind to barter
this valuable old relic for vulgar fire-wood. He was too proud to
borrow of Elfinger, who had hard work to live himself; or to reveal the
state of his circumstances to the other inmates of the house. If
any one chanced to come across him wandering about alone in his
strange disguise, he declared, with a beaming face, that he was too
full-blooded to bear the heat of a stove. Besides, he was in one of his
poetical moods, and was brooding over an epic poem which was to treat
of the astonishing and pitiful love-adventure of the Swedish commander
with Gustel von Blasewitz. And composing a poem was a very heating
occupation, unless the "shade of a laurel-wreath" was there to cool the
forehead on which stood the anxious sweat of the muses.

Toward noon he threw aside his horse-blanket and went around to
Angelica's room, where it was warm and cozy. The good girl led the same
quiet, industrious life now as before; sold one flower-piece after
another, cheaply but surely; painted the children of tender parents who
had no money to spare for art, but yet liked to see their _salon_
adorned with the red-cheeked curly-heads of their own flesh and blood;
and had certainly no good cause for mourning over the pining away of
the beautiful summer. And yet, she too was perceptibly depressed in
spirits. Whether it was her righteous anger at the flirting and
profitless pangs of her red-bearded neighbor, who since the excursion
on the water had only been permitted to exchange a few hasty glances
and notes with his sweetheart (her father having found out about the
Starnberg adventure, and had a scene with Aunt Babette); or whether the
clouded happiness of her beautiful friend caused her silent pain, or
awakened in her breast a very pardonable longing for a similar
fulfillment of her own earthly mission--who shall say?

She herself never suffered a word of complaint to escape her; and
exhibited, particularly to her secretly-betrothed friend, the most
contented face in the world. But the change