rue, they did not succeed in finishing without
considerable blushing and hesitation.

CHAPTER IX.

In the midst of a pause that followed the reading of some singularly
tender and beautiful verses by the hitherto silent Kohle, the happy
party heard the clock on a neighboring tower strike the hour of
midnight, and it was only when the twelfth stroke had died away that
their solemnly exorcised spirits seemed to wake once more from their
enchantment.

Rossel rose, went up to Kohle, and embraced him, calling him "du" for
the first time. He declared that Father Hoelderlin looked down from his
blissful heights upon his son, with whom he was well pleased. The
others, too, roused themselves, and expressed, each according to his
fashion, their thanks to the greatly embarrassed poet, to whose health
the only one who could have been jealous of him--the poetical
Rosenbusch--proposed, amid the enthusiastic acclamations of all, that
they should drink the last glass of punch.

Schnetz propounded the question whether sufficient cause could be shown
why this was and must be the last glass. But Angelica, although she
protested that she wished to exert no pressure upon any one else,
persisted, for her own part, in withdrawing; and as the men, too, felt
that the festal mood of the evening had reached its height, it was
decided to leave the faithful Fridolin to extinguish the lights, and to
start together on their homeward ways.

Jansen escorted his betrothed; Rosenbusch offered his arm to Angelica;
behind them came Elfinger with Kohle, of whom he had begged a copy of
his poem, promising in return to give him a few hints in the art of
delivery. Schnetz and Rossel, one on either side, supported old
Schoepf, so as to keep him from falling, for he found it hard to walk
on the slippery pavement, which was covered over with a thin layer of
ice.

The last was Felix. His voice had not been heard for some time back,
and no one noticed when, without saying good-night, he turned into a
side-street, and went his way alone.

Pulling his hat far down over his face, he rushed as hastily through
the raw night as though he were somewhere impatiently expected. His
wounds, which were still scarcely healed, pained him; the fiery drink
had heated his blood after his long abstinence; and restless, joyless
thoughts throbbed through his brain. Before he was aware of it, he
found himself in the square before the hotel