his
shoulder; "you were very lively and good-humored this evening. Continue
always thus!"

"I hope to do so," answered Otto: "may we only always have as happy an
evening as this!"

"Extraordinary man!" said Wilhelm, and shook his head. "Now we will soon
set out on our journey, and catch for ourselves the happiness of the
glorious gold bird!"

"And not let it escape again!" exclaimed Otto. "Formerly I used to say,
To-morrow! to-morrow! now I say, To-day, and all day long! Away with
fancies and complainings. I now comprehend that which you once said to
me, that is. Man _can_ be happy if he only _will_ be so."

Wilhelm took his hand, and looked into his face with a half-melancholy
expression.

"Are you sentimental?" inquired Otto.

"I only affect that which I am not!" answered Wilhelm; and with that,
suddenly throwing off the natural gravity of the moment, returned to his
customary gayety.

The following days were spent in visiting and in receiving visitors. On
every post-day Otto sought through the leathern bag of the postman, but
he found no letter from German Heinrich, and heard nothing from him. "I
have been deceived," said he, "and I feel myself glad about it! She, the
horrible one, is not my sister!"

There was a necessity for him to go away, far from home, and yet he felt
no longing after the mountains of Switzerland or the luxuriant beauty of
the south.

"Nature will only weaken me! I will not seek after it. Man it is that I
require: these egotistical, false beings--these lords of everything!
How we flatter our weaknesses and admire our virtues! Whatever serves to
advance our own wishes we find to be excellent. To those who love us,
we give our love in return. At the bottom, whom do I love except myself?
Wilhelm? My friendship for him is built upon the foundation,--I cannot
do without thee! Friendship is to me a necessity. Was I not once
convinced that I adored Sophie, and that I never could bear it if she
were lost to me? and yet there needed the conviction 'She loves thee
not,' and my strong feeling was dead. Sophie even seems to me
less beautiful; I see faults where I formerly could only discover
amiabilities! Now, she is to me almost wholly a stranger. As I am, so
are all. Who is there that feels right lovingly, right faithfully for
me, without his own interest leading him to do so? Rosalie? My old,
honest Rosalie? I grew up before her eyes like a plant which she loved.
I am dear to her as it! Whe