had disappeared and now revealed the park in all
its beauty. The gardener was removing the pots that contained faded
flowers, and replacing them with fresh ones. Arabella's pet greyhound
was sitting on the gravel path; it looked up at its master and, in
token of its joy, jumped about and ran around the arbor.

Although Bruno saw it all, he was thinking of something quite
different.

"Ha ha!" he laughed, "I never thought that this world was anything but
an empty farce. He who frets away an hour is a fool. Now I am quite
free," said he, drawing himself up; "quite free. Now there is no one on
earth for whom I need care. World, I am free and alone! And now for
seventy years to come, give me all thy pleasures! Thou canst not harm
me! I trample everything under foot!"

He stopped to listen--but no one came.

Bruno had always lived in society, but had never passed any time in the
society of his own thoughts. Now, when he was lonely and in mourning
they came to him--neglected-looking companions with an eager air and
merry glances--and cried: "Leave it all; come with us! Let us be merry!
What avails your grieving? You will be old before your time."

He stood before a mirror, and they said to him: "See how horrible you
look."

He could not rid himself of his companions. They played merry dances;
they jingled their gold and cried: "va banque"; they rattled the
glasses and showed him voluptuous and seductive forms, and he could
hear rude and wanton laughter. They filled the room; they seized him
and wanted to dance about with him; but he stood firm, clenching his
fists and unable to go. And then they cried to him: "We know you! You
are a silly boy and care for what the world thinks. You have no
courage! Cheer up! Let them taunt you, but be merry, nevertheless. The
day you lose in fretting, no one can ever give back to you. Fie! at
this begging for sympathy! Go about and say: 'I'm a poor man, my
father's dead and my sister drowned herself.' Get some one to make a
song for you, and another to paint a little sign, and wander about from
fair to fair, asking for an alms. Fie! fie! You must do one thing or
the other: despise the world, or let it pity you. Which do you choose?
How often have you said: 'I despise the world'--and what makes you
afraid? You are sitting there, and would like to go out; who closes the
door? who has tied your horse's feet? You are alone. The dear friends,
the kind-hearted beings, the sympathizing souls,