or nearly a year, his father's only
brother had settled in the same place, and yet would not notice him;
every time he met Petrowitsch, he would like to have gone up to him and
taken hold of his hand.

"I saw that well enough," answered Petrowitsch, "but I was angry with
you and your mother, because I heard that she spoiled you, and told
you--seven times a day at least--how good you were, and the best son in
the world, and so clever and so prudent! That was very unwise. Men are
like birds. There are some who devour insects, and must have each
minute a fresh one in their crops; and you are just like one of these
birds, every minute a pat on the shoulder, or a panegyric."

"He is right, is he not Annele?" said Lenz, with a bitter smile.

"Not far wrong," answered Annele.

"Don't you say a word," cried Petrowitsch, "you are also a bird, or
rather you were one, and do you know what kind of one? a bird of prey:
they can endure hunger for days, but then they devour whatever they can
get hold of--an innocent singing bird, or a kitten, with bones, and
skin, and fur, entire."

"He is right here also," answered Annele, "I never was better pleased
than when I got hold of some one to pull at, and to tear to pieces. I
exhibited this unhappy tendency, the very first day you and I drove out
together, when I felt such malicious pleasure in provoking Ernestine,
and you asked me, 'Does that give you pleasure?' These words sunk into
my heart, and I intended to become as amiable as you, and felt there
was more real happiness in this; and yet I lived on in the old way, and
every now and then I thought, 'presently I will begin to be very
different, but no one shall see it, my husband above all must not
suspect it;' and then the old evil spirit got the mastery again over
me, and I felt ashamed that people should observe that I wished to be
better, and so at last I gave up even wishing to be so. I felt I was
Annele of the 'Lion,' who had been a favourite with every one who came
to the house--that there was no need for any change. And I was furious
with you, because you were the first person who ever found fault with
me, for saying what others praised and laughed at; and then I wished to
show you that you were no great things yourself. And at last all hung
on the one point: 'you must be a landlady again, then you will recover
your self-esteem, and the world, too, will see what you are.' It was
thus I thought, and thought wrong. Even yester