long it
is since I saw you!" and he pressed their hands between his cold and wet
ones.

This scene, which took place in twilight, was quickly brought to an end
by the ladies resolutely driving the gentlemen out to their own chamber
to change their clothes. Jacobi, it is true, on his own account, did not
require much driving, and Louise found Henrik's philosophy on this
occasion not so fully adopted. Louise had already taken care that a good
blazing fire should welcome the travellers in their chamber.

In the mean time, the ladies quartered themselves in the library; lights
were kindled, the table spread; the Judge helped all, and was highly
delighted if people only called to him. The Assessor looked enraptured,
as Eva arranged his confections on little plates. Petrea did not venture
to look at them, much less to touch them.

"By Jove, my dear girls, how comfortable it is here!" exclaimed the
Judge in the joy of his heart, as he saw the library thus peopled, and
in its for-the-future every-day state. "Are you comfortable there, on
the sofa, Elise? Let me get you a footstool. No; sit still, my friend!
what are men for in the world?"

The Candidate--we beg his pardon, the Master of Arts, Jacobi--appeared
no longer to be the same person who had an hour before stood there in
his wet dress, as he made his appearance, handsomely apparelled, with
his young friend, before the ladies, and his countenance actually beamed
with delight at the joyful scene which he there witnessed.

People now examined one another nearer. They discovered that Henrik had
become considerably paler as well as thinner, which Henrik received as a
compliment to his studies. Jacobi wished also a compliment on his
studies, but it was unanimously refused to him on account of his
blooming appearance. He protested that he was flushed with the weather,
but that availed nothing. Louise thought privately to herself that
Jacobi had decidedly gained in manly bearing; that he had a simpler and
more vigorous demeanour; he was become, she thought, a little more like
her father. Her father was Louise's ideal of manly perfection.

Little Gabriele blushed deeply, and half hid herself behind her mother,
as her brother addressed her.

"How is your highness, my most gracious Princess Turandotte!" said he;
"has your highness no little riddle at hand with which to confuse weak
heads?"

Her little highness looked in the highest degree confused, and tried to
withdraw