e modifying
title of Promethean. The first time the theme sounded in his ears he
roared like a wild beast, but with joy. It seemed to him that music was
really born at that moment.

He pressed Eleanore so tightly to his bosom that she could not breathe,
and murmured between his teeth: "There is no choice left: we have got to
remain lifeless and irresponsive to each other's presence or wound one
another with love."

"The mask, the mask," whispered Eleanore anxiously, and pointed over to
the corner from which the mask of Zingarella, with the dim light falling
on it, shone forth like the weirdly beautiful face of a spectre.

Philippina stood before the door, and listened to what they were saying.
She had caught a rat, killed it, and laid the cadaver in the door. The
next morning, as Eleanore was going into the kitchen, she saw the dead
rat, screamed, and went back to her room trembling with fright.

Daniel stroked her hair, and said: "Don't worry, Eleanore. Rats belong
to married life just as truly as salty soup, broken dishes, and holes in
the stockings."

"Now listen, Daniel, is that meant as a reproach?" she asked.

"No, my dear, it is not a reproach; it is merely a picture of the world.
You have the soul of a princess; you know nothing about rats. Look at
those black, staring, pearly eyes: they remind me of Jason Philip
Schimmelweis and Alfons Diruf and Alexander Doermaul; they remind me of
the reserved table, the _Kaffeeklatsch_, smelly feet, evenings at the
club, and everything else that is unappetising, vulgar, and base. Don't
look at me in such astonishment, Eleanore, I have just had an ugly
dream; that is all. I dreamt that a miserable-looking wretch came up to
me and kept asking me what your name is, and I couldn't tell him. Just
think of it: I could not recall your name. It was terribly annoying.
Farewell, farewell."

He had put on his hat and left. He ran out in the direction of Feucht,
and stayed the entire day in the open fields without taking a single bit
of nourishment except a piece of black bread and a glass of milk. But
when he returned in the evening his pockets were bulging with notes he
had jotted down while out there by himself.

He came back by way of the Castle, and knocked at Eberhard's door. Since
there was no one at home, he sauntered around for a while along the old
rampart, and then returned about nine o'clock. But the windows were
still dark.

He had not seen Eberhard for two month