ou know well that I eat
tremendously."

These latter words Herr Dapsul uttered almost in a howl, while bitter
tears rolled down his lean chop-fallen cheeks. He then went on more
calmly--

"But I take the greatest of pains to behave towards the elementary
spirit who is thus favourably disposed towards me with the utmost
refinement of manners, the most exquisite _galanterie_. I never venture
to smoke a pipe of tobacco without employing the proper preliminary
cabbalistic precautions, for I cannot tell whether or not my tender
air-spirit may like the brand of the tobacco, and so be annoyed at the
defilement of her element. And I take the same precautions when I cut a
hazel twig, pluck a flower, eat a fruit, or strike fire, all my efforts
being directed to avoid giving offence to any elementary spirit. And
yet--there, you see that nutshell, which I slid upon, and, falling over
backwards, completely nullified the whole important experiment, which
would have revealed to me the whole mystery of the ring? I do not
remember that I have ever eaten a nut in this chamber, completely
devoted as it is to science (you know now why I have my breakfast on
the stairs), and it is all the clearer that some little gnome must have
been hidden away in that shell, very likely having come here to
prosecute his studies, and watch some of my experiments. For the
elementary spirits are fond of human science, particularly such kinds
of it as the uninitiated vulgar consider to be, if not foolish and
superstitious, at all events beyond the powers of the human mind to
comprehend, and for that reason style 'dangerous.' Thus, when I
accidentally trod upon this little student's head, I suppose he got in
a rage, and threw me down. But it is probable that he had a deeper
reason for preventing me from finding out the secret of the ring. Anna,
my dear Anna, listen to this. I had ascertained that there is a gnome
bestowing his favour upon you, and to judge by the ring he must be a
gnome of rank and distinction, as well as of superior cultivation. But,
my dear Anna, my most beloved little stupid girl, how do you suppose
you are going to enter into any kind of union with an elementary spirit
without running the most terrible risk? If you had read Cassiodorus
Remus you might, of course, reply that, according to his veracious
chronicle, the celebrated Magdalena de la Croix, abbess of a convent at
Cordova, in Spain, lived for thirty years in the happiest wedlock