"All the same," he said; "I am devilish anxious to continue this acquaintance. Why shouldn't a talented woman be many-sided? So this evening at eight o'clock I will call for you, baron. What a pity that I should have shaved off my beard and cropped my hair just at this time! I should have been much more imposing with my former romantic head than in this bald, Philistine guise. However, if the spirit is only unshorn and free--and in any case my velvet jacket will carry me through!" CHAPTER VIII. Punctually at eight o'clock Rosenbusch made his appearance at Felix's lodgings. He was arrayed with a gorgeousness such as he only assumed on the most extraordinary occasions. It is true, picturesque lights played in the folds of his violet velvet jacket, indicative of the extreme age of its material; but those who knew that this garment, as was authentically proved by the records, was cut from the robe of state worn by an historical Countess of Tilly, regarded it with reverence, especially as it was exceedingly becoming to its present red-cheeked wearer. About his neck he had wound a spotlessly white cambric necktie, tied in a delicate knot. His white waistcoat was, to be sure, a little yellowed, and his black trousers were a little shiny in places; but when he entered his friend's room with an elastic step, carrying his tall, antiquated cylinder hat under his arm, and swinging a pair of tolerably white kid gloves in one hand, he cut, upon the whole, such an excellent figure that Felix felt called upon to say something flattering concerning his toilet. "One must maintain the honor of his station, and prove to the world that the tailor ought to learn from the artist, and not the reverse," replied the painter, with great solemnity, stopping before the glass and endeavoring to give a bolder wave to his cropped hair. "Now you," he continued, "haven't by any means got rid of the baron yet. Take my word for it, clothes really do make the man. One is a very different kind of fellow in his shirt-sleeves or in a blouse, than in one of the elegant, pinched-up monkey-jackets of the latest style. Doesn't every one of us play a _rôle_? Now just ask Elfinger whether the true spirit of the _rôle_ doesn't lie in the costume of the actor. I, for example, in a coat that any Tom or Dick could wear, should feel myself so lowered to their level that I shouldn't want to take a brush in my hand. But dressed as I am, even in my company toilet, I can shout _anch' io_ as lustily as far greater people. But you show no signs of getting ready. What do you say to making a sensation by coming late?" Felix had had time to relapse once more into his melancholy mood. He answered that he had had disagreeable news from home, and was in no humor for going into company. Rosenbusch must excuse him; besides, it would make no difference to the countess whether an unknown beginner--