rged
me to return. You must know that it annoys him when people stare at
him, and he is exposed to this more frequently than any one else; he
attracts attention everywhere by his beauty and his lameness, and
moreover because he has an expression in his eyes unlike any other
mortal."

"I wish he were less peculiar; we should keep him longer."

Edwin stopped, seized Marquard's arm and whispered: "you fear--"

"Nothing--and everything. His texture is so delicate, a fly might tear
it. But possibly it is more tenacious than we think," he added, as he
felt Edwin's hand tremble on his arm.

"The wine you sent did him good," he said. "I thank you; it was a kind,
philanthropic thought. I can not wish him different from what he is
now. He would no longer be the same, if he had the nerves and muscles
of a groom. And would he be happier? You don't know how happy he is,
what a boundless capacity he has for transfiguring all the poverty
around us by the wealth of his own soul, transmuting common dust into
gold. If _I_ gave him no cause for anxiety, he would have scarcely
anything to desire."

"I have a word to say to you about yourself too, Philosopher. I alluded
to it a short time ago in your room, but Balder was present, who is
just like a girl; there are certain things which cannot be mentioned
before him. Listen man, this disorder of your nerves is entirely your
own fault; it's a sin and shame for you to permit that sponge, the
brain, to exhaust the best strength of the rest of your organization.
How can there be any balance of power? I tell you your whole trouble is
to be cured in one way."

"You may be right, Fritz," replied Edwin quietly, as they crossed the
courtyard. "But you see it's the same with this medicine, as with the
one you just prescribed for Balder. We have not the natures to take it,
and if we should force ourselves to do so, the disease would attack a
more vital spot."

"Nature, nature!" burst forth the doctor, looking almost fiercely at
his friend through his gold spectacles. "I'll answer for it, my son,
that your excellent nature, which you have tormented so long with your
cursed abstract idealism, that it no longer ventures to grumble--would
instantly recuperate and grow merry again, if you would only for once
dismount from the high horse of speculation and rely upon your own good
common sense. Deuce take it! A healthy fellow like you living on
locusts and wild honey, like the hermits in the Theban d