ouse without an
overcoat, like a youth whose hot blood keeps him warm. He had paid five
groschen for a little bouquet of violets which a poor girl offered him,
and fastened it daintily in his button hole; his white hat rested
jauntily over his left ear, as always happened during his hours of
inspiration, and those, who saw him pass, looking around with a merry
joyous face, nodding sometimes to a pretty child or flourishing his
cane, might well suppose that wine had played one of characteristic
pranks on the little man, and persuaded him that he was once more a
youth of twenty, and might yield to the most unbridled gayety as freely
as the most hopeful young schoolboy.

But when he saw Frau Valentin's house in the distance, his joyous
manner suddenly changed, his step became more moderate, a grave
expression shaded his face, and he even paused as if considering
whether it would not be better to turn back. Then he seemed to summon
up all his manhood, energetically fastened the upper button of his
coat, set his hat straight, and with resolute steps walked toward the
dwelling of his pious friend.

He found her up stairs in the large room among a party of little girls
who came to her twice a week after school, to be taught sewing, and
then, strengthened by lessons of wisdom and virtue and a cup of coffee
with a huge roll, were dismissed to their homes. The hour had just
expired, and the little ones were crowding around their benefactress,
who usually had to prevent them from kissing her hand by kindly
stroking the round cheeks or giving a friendly pat on the shoulder. In
spite of the dim light, she instantly perceived by the voice and
expression of her old friend, that some important motive had brought
him to her, and hastily led the way into the adjoining room, where her
little lamp was already lighted before the picture of the dead
professor. Her first question was concerning Leah. "She's very well,"
replied the artist, as he took the bouquet of violets from his button
hole and gallantly offered it to his old love.

"What has happened to you, my dear friend?" asked the lady in surprise.
They used the word _ihr_[8] in addressing each other when alone, as
they were too intimate for the formal "you" and yet did not venture to
adopt the familiar "thou."

"To me," he answered boldly, as if he were really meaning to conceal
something from her. "I don't know what you mean, my dear madame. I'm
just the same as usual. But it's