in her spirits did not
escape Rosenbusch. He had to submit to be lectured by her oftener than
ever, and in a far sharper tone, not only because of his inactivity,
but also more particularly because of the aimless and unmanly way in
which he carried on his love affair. She would say such harsh things to
him about it, that any one else would have run out of the room. But he,
meanwhile, would water her flowers with the most penitent and humble
mien, would wash her brushes, and end by assuring her that he never
felt so well as when she was blowing him up; he felt then that he had
no better friend in the world than she was. But he would not be such a
fool as to improve, for he only interested her because of his faults.
She had no appreciation of his praiseworthy qualities, inasmuch as she
could not abide poems, _adagios_, and mice. Whereupon she used first to
laugh, and then, with a shrug of the shoulders and a meaning sigh, to
subside into silence.

Nor did "Edward the Fat" pass his days any more cheerfully, though he
was surrounded once more by his city comforts, and was relieved of the
hated task of enjoying Nature. For the first time in his life this
spoiled child of fortune had a wish unfulfilled, and, what sharpened
the sting of the privation, a wish that by no means aspired to far-off
clouds and stars, but lay apparently within reach of his hands.
Heretofore he had had no cause to complain of the unkindness and
cruelty of women. The singular contrast between his indolent, sluggish,
and phlegmatic manner, and the keen intellectual power that flashed
from his eyes and played about his lips, to say nothing of the
contemptuous way in which he was in the habit of treating the proudest
and most exacting women, provoked them to enter the lists with him, and
to challenge and abuse him, until, very unexpectedly, they found
themselves worsted. But now, for the first time, he had encountered a
being to whom he was forced to stoop in every sense of the word; for
she was neither beautiful, nor educated, nor particularly prudish, nor
even of good birth. And this strange creature treated him with the most
persistent coldness, remained as insensible as a stick to his tenderest
words and most heart-felt homage, and, finally, slipped out of his
hands altogether. For, in spite of all their endeavors, neither he nor
old Schoepf succeeded in discovering the girl's hiding-place.

Ever since Schnetz had let him into the secret, Rossel had