ix to make up for the alarm he had
occasioned on the previous day, the meal was enlivened by all sorts of
jollity and good stories.

Nor was there, for that matter, any lack of more substantial dainties;
and Kohle, who had voluntarily taken upon himself the office of butler,
ran out every few minutes to fetch up another dusty bottle; for Rossel,
who was a light drinker himself, had a sort of passion for collecting
the rarest brands of wine in his cellar, if only a small supply of
each. It was not long before the programme which had been prepared for
the afternoon leaked out. They proposed to row over to Starnberg in
Rossel's pretty little boat, to land there, and then, while strolling
along the shore, to encounter, as if by pure accident, the two sisters,
who were to go out with their aunt, under the pretext of taking a walk.
Then, upon a polite invitation, they were all to get into the boat
again together, and be rowed out upon the lake, in whichever direction
circumstances and the mood of the moment might suggest.

Rossel pronounced this plan to be very wisely conceived, but flatly
refused to take part in it. He had an aversion, founded on principle,
to all pic-nics, especially where there were ladies whom one was
obliged to treat with politeness and consideration, relinquishing to
them the most comfortable places and the daintiest morsels. For lovers
this was no sacrifice, since they could indemnify themselves in other
ways. But such a restraint could not be imposed upon free and
independent natures without great injustice. He would, therefore,
remain at home until the day grew cooler, and study Regis's translation
of Rabelais, which he had long had in mind to illustrate. Toward
evening he would stroll into the wood in order to take a look at his
mushroom-bed; for he had made it his especial task to forward the
culture of the mushroom in the woods about Starnberg, as well as the
general improvement and introduction of all edible fungi. Then, when
they came home late at night, intoxicated with sour beer and sweet
words, a supper should await them that would be "worth the toil of
princes."

Felix, too, would gladly have remained behind. But there was no way for
him to do this without betraying his secret. And, besides, what else
could he do to quiet his secret yearning--since it was impossible for
him to approach her by daylight? He secretly consoled himself by the
thought that, when they returned, late in the eveni