ad been taken of his flute-playing, he had seated himself at
his easel again, and had set himself zealously to work to paint away
his anger. His room certainly presented a most remarkable appearance;
the walls shone, almost like those of an armory, with old arms,
halberds, muskets, and swords, relieved here and there by enormous
boots with wheel-spurs, leather collars, saddles, and singular
stirrups. An immense old kettle-drum stood on a rickety stand in front
of a worm-eaten arm-chair, and served as a table on which to pile all
sorts of odds and ends. Some cactus-plants, with great red blossoms,
stood in full bloom in the window, and among them was a delicate little
wire-cage, containing two white mice, who ran restlessly up and down,
squeaking and looking shyly at the new faces out of their little red
eyes.

The battle of Luetzen stood on the easel; it was quite a vigorous work,
and Felix could praise it with a good conscience. The horses,
especially, reared and plunged, full of life and spirits; and the young
baron could hardly believe it when the painter confessed that he had
never mounted a horse in his life. After they had joked and laughed
about this for a while, and Rosenbusch had delivered an earnest speech
in defense of the romantic school, he threw off the old, much-patched
Swedish trooper's jacket in which he always painted, in order, as he
said, to have the true historical inspiration, and dressed himself, in
spite of the heat, in a violet-colored velvet coat, so that he might
accompany the friends in their visit to the adjoining room.

Their knock on Angelica's door was answered by a cordial "Come in!"
Rosenbusch had not exaggerated: the studio did, in truth, resemble a
hot-house decked out for a festival, to which the sketches, and
studies, and half-finished pictures of flowers merely served as
decorations. The painter had had a window cut through the wall on the
east side at her own expense, in order that she might give her plants,
which she tended with scientific knowledge, plenty of sun whenever the
nature of her work did not require a pure north light. The plants were
truly grateful, and twined and throve so luxuriantly that the slender
stems of the palms and figs reached almost to the ceiling.

Angelica stood before her easel in an antiquated painting-jacket, her
straw hat perched on one side, her cheeks glowing from her work, and
was so busily occupied in "toning down" the background that she mere