concealed in the foam of the champagne glasses.

When it came to an end the silence still continued for a while. The
bride had disappeared with Angelica into the next room, and now
returned again in traveling-dress. Schnetz now called upon Rosenbusch
to let the departing couple take some of his verses with them as a
farewell blessing on their journey. But he, who was generally so
obliging, could not be induced to do this at any price. He would only
promise to forward them his bad rhymes in black and white, accompanied
with marginal illustrations.

"It is late," said Julie, "and we have still to take leave of our
child. We leave her in the best of care, and hope soon to see her
again. And now we must say good-by."

She first embraced the foster-mother and kissed her warmly. Then she
gave her hand and a kind word and look to each of the others in turn,
and hastened out of the room, no longer able to control her emotion.
Jansen, too, had parted from his friends with great feeling, entreating
them all not to follow him beyond the door. Angelica alone insisted
upon accompanying the couple as far as the carriage. The others stepped
to the window and watched them get in, together with old Erich, who was
to accompany them, while Angelica still stood on the carriage step
unable to tear herself from Julie's neck. When she at last stepped
down, and the door was slammed to, those in the house stepped to the
wide-opened window, with full glasses and burning lamps and candles,
and shouted a loud "good luck!" to the departing couple. The waving of
a handkerchief and of hands from the carriage doors answered them; and
the drosky rolled away.

_BOOK VII_.

CHAPTER I.

All of a sudden Paradise had become very desolate. In the rooms that
had once resounded with conversation and laughter until long after
midnight, there now assembled a mere handful of rather morose and
chilly comrades, who did not thaw out even over their wine. They sat
behind their glasses, silent and disconsolate, each one expecting of
the other that he would suddenly break out again in the old festal
mood. For, in spite of the great necessity for social intercourse that
is inherent in the German character, nothing is more remarkable than
the rarity of true social talent, and still more the lack of that
social sense of duty which urges the individual to do all in his power
to contribute