of the last line, and
pressed his blushing sweetheart to his breast, and kissed her glowing
lips; whilst the Commissionsrath greatly rejoiced, and was full
of happiness over this happy _denouement_ of this most involved
love-affair.

Meanwhile the Baron had been filing at ducats quite as eagerly and
absorbedly as the Clerk of the Privy Chancery had been reading, neither
of them taking the slightest notice of what had been going on, till the
Commissionsrath announced, in a loud voice, that Edmund Lehsen had
chosen the casket containing Albertine's portrait, and was,
consequently, to be her husband. Tussmann seemed to be quite delighted
to hear it, and expressed his satisfaction in his usual manner, by
rubbing his hands, jumping a little way up and down for a moment or
two, and giving a delicate little laugh. The Baron seemed to feel no
further interest about the matter; but he embraced the Commissionsrath;
said he was a real "gentleman" and had made him most utterly happy by
his present of the file, and told him that he could always count upon
him, in all circumstances. With which he took his departure.

Tussmann, too, thanked him, with tears of the most heartfelt emotion,
for making him the happiest of men by this most rare and wonderful of
all rare and wonderful books; and, after the most profuse expenditure
of politeness to Albertine, Edmund, and the old Goldsmith, he followed
the Baron as quickly as ever he could.

Benjie ceased to torture the world of letters with literary abortions,
as he had formerly done, preferring to employ his time in filing
ducats; and Tussmann no longer made the booksellers' lives a burden to
them by pestering them to hunt out old forgotten books for him.

But when a few weeks of rapture and happiness had passed, a great and
bitter sorrow took possession of the Commissionsrath's house. For the
Goldsmith urged, in the strongest terms, upon Edmund that for his own
sake, and for the sake of his art, he was bound to keep his solemn
promise and go to Italy.

Edmund, notwithstanding the dreadful parting from Albertine, felt the
strongest possible impulse urging him towards the country of the arts;
and, although Albertine shed the bitterest tears, she could not help
thinking how very nice it would be to be able to take out letters from
her lover at Rome, and read them out--or extracts from them--at
aesthetic teas of an afternoon.

Edmund has been in Rome now more than a year, and people do s