Confident in this belief, he determined upon the desperate step; and, if he could not muster up sufficient courage, after the miserable termination of his undertaking, to return to his friend with the bad news, let us not think any the worse of his good heart. Yet we must confess that, as far as he himself was concerned, he regarded this crushing conclusion to the novel as beneficial rather than lamentable. He had done his best, had displayed uncommon courage, and had shown the beautiful being how serious he was in his intentions; but now he felt that he had a right to rejoice in peace over an honorable defeat that permitted him to go on setting his heart on everything that was lovable and unattainable. When at last he stepped out of the wine-room into the square, where the moonlight shone full upon the five bronze statues standing rigidly in their regular rank and file, a feeling of infinite satisfaction stole over him; a malicious joy that he could wander here in flesh and blood beneath the changing moon and have as many love affairs as he liked, while these celebrated dignitaries stood on their pedestals unable to move a muscle. He even caught himself beginning to sing in a loud voice; but a moment after he came to a sudden stop. He felt that it was not at all the proper thing for him to go about bawling merry songs, considering the mournful mood he ought by good rights to be in. So he composed his feelings, and wended his way home in a much more subdued manner. But when he reached his street, and saw the lights in Elfinger's windows blinking down at him, his heart quickly sunk into his boots again. He could not bring himself to go up at this dead hour of the night and confess to his friend how badly the affair had turned out. So he turned swiftly upon his heel, and, taking a roundabout way, finally reached his studio, where he knew he could find tolerable sleeping quarters. The janitor opened his eyes wide when he was knocked up to open the back-door for Herr Rosenbusch. The white mice, too, quickly sprang up from their pleasant dreams of biscuit and Swiss cheese, and rubbed their snouts against the wire-netting in nervous excitement; for they recognized their master. There he stood in the moonlight, paying no attention to them, firmly planted before the battle of Lützen. He gazed at it for a while in silence; then he felt for the place where his beard was usually to be found. "You are no fool, after all!" he muttered to himself. "If you had never painted anything but that black charger there, rearing because he has received a bullet in his neck--_Basta! Anch' io sono pittore!_"