eeds and his own, when he suddenly shrank from
the mere thought that she could ever return his passion, as if such a
return would be a terrible misfortune. Aside from all the mystery that
surrounded her, how could he ever hope to harmonize his fate and
Balder's, their cheerfully endured poverty, his duties to his
profession, with the life she led, and which alone could be
satisfactory to her, since she expressed no wish to change it. He only
needed to imagine her in the place of Reginchen, who brought them their
dinner, and to transport to the "tun" the form of his enchantress, with
the striped waistcoat and his silver dish behind her, to measure the
abyss of impossibility that yearned between them.

Thus weeks elapsed, without any change, either for the better or worse,
having taken place in their intercourse. To be sure he did not always
find her in the same mood; oftentimes he even thought he perceived that
she had been weeping, or she greeted him with a look of surprise, as if
it were difficult for her to recall her thoughts from some distant
scene to him and what he brought. But a few words from Edwin were
sufficient to clear her brow and transform her once more into the
frank, friendly child that, with all her pampering and the strange
independence of her life, she really was. She fairly provoked him to
sometimes catch her in a piece of carelessness or failure in etiquette,
and then he treated her with condescending, sarcastic composure, as if
she were a person not fully accountable for her actions. But he
carefully avoided letting her feel his superiority in any other than a
jesting manner. If, as she was fond of doing, she roved in fancy, with
strange transitions of thought, over the world and mankind, life and
death, time and eternity, he could sit for fifteen minutes, tattooing
an apple in fantastic designs with a silver fruit knife, and listening
in silence. It always vexed her that he did not seem to think it worth
while to contradict her, and declared that even if he laughed aloud and
derided her, it would be less impolite than to sit silently smiling,
while she was talking about the most serious matters. If the wind were
blowing, or a fountain plashing, he could not adopt a more indifferent
air--"Was it his fault?" he answered laughing, "that in her presence he
often felt as strange an emotion as in that of nature, whose manifold
voices frequently rippled over him with similar elementary power,
without his