all the varying emotions of the incident.' The offended dignity
of the old lady, the surprise and mortification of Miss Herbert, and my
own unconscious pretension as I pointed to the "friends" who accompanied
me, were drawn with the spirit of high caricature. Nor did she spare
Vaterchen or herself; they were drawn, perhaps, with a more exaggerated
satire than all the rest.

The old man no sooner comprehended the subject than he drew his hand
across it, and turned to her with words of anger and reproach. I meant,
of course, to interfere in her behalf, but it was needless; she fled,
laughing, into the garden, and before many minutes were over, we heard
her merry voice, with the tinkle of a guitar to assist it.

"There it is," said Vaterchen, moodily. "What are you to do with a
temperament like that?"

That was a question I was in no wise prepared to answer. Tintefleck's
temperament seemed to be the very converse of my own. I was over eager
to plan out everything in life; _she_ appeared to be just as impulsively
bent on risking all.

_My_ head was always calculating eventualities; _hers_, it struck me,
never worried itself about difficulties till in the midst of them. Now,
Jean Paul tells us that when a man detects any exaggerated bias in his
character, instead of endeavoring, by daily watching, to correct it,
he will be far more successful if he ally himself with some one of a
diametrically opposite humor. If he be rash, for instance, let him
seek companionship with the sluggish. If his tendency bear to
over-imagination, let him frequent the society of realists. Why,
therefore, should not I and Tintefleck be mutually beneficial? Take the
two different kinds of wood in a bow: one will supply resistance, the
other flexibility. It was a pleasant notion, and I resolved to test it.

"Vaterchen," said I, "call me to-morrow, when you get ready for the
road. I will keep you company as far as Constance."

"Ah, sir," said he, with a sigh, "you will be well weary of us before
half the journey is over; but you shall be obeyed."

CHAPTER XXXII. I RELIEVE MYSELF OF MY PURSE

Next morning, just as day was breaking, we set out on foot on our road
to Constance. There was a pinkish-gray streak of light on the horizon,
sure sign of a fine day, and the bright stars twinkled still in the
clear half-sombre sky, and all was calm and noiseless,--nothing to be
heard but the tramp of our own feet on the hard causeway.

With the co