"Suffer me to say you are mistaken, honoured madam," he began, with mock devotion. "It is, on the contrary, your duty, as guardian of my unguarded youth--your serious duty--to convince yourself that I really do grow in grace, and make progress in those ornamental branches of education, which are indeed most foreign to my nature. At the close of my course of dancing-lessons, it might be considered proper to hold some species of examination." She raised her eyes to his, with a look so grave, as to tone down his mischievous mood at once. "It is time to have done with nonsense," she said; and her voice sounded almost sharp. "I would say goodnight, and leave you to yourself this moment, only I see that you are not nearly ready for sleep, nor will be, for ever so long--go, fetch the book. Even if you should not learn much to-night--which indeed does not seem likely--it may help us to get this nonsense out of your head, and that is always something gained." He sighed as he walked towards the narrow bookshelf upon the cupboard. "Well, I suppose I must obey--for a change," he said, with a shake of his head. "Only if I should never know anything more of Barbarossa, than that his beard was red, it will be nobody's fault but yours." "Well, and I suppose--for a change--I must temper my justice with mercy," she said, returning to a jesting tone. "Leave that history, and come and sit down here at my feet, and let me talk to you of gods and heroes; and if you are a good boy, and pay attention, I will shew you the pictures afterwards, as a reward." She took up the little blue volume she had been looking through before. "I only found this yesterday," she said, "in the lumber-room upstairs; the title is 'Götterlehre,' and it was edited in the last century by a man called Moritz. There are some good verses of Goethe's in it; I know you will like them." He resumed his place at her feet, and she began. She had a clear voice, and used it simply; only when her feelings became excited it would sink to a moving melodious contralto. After she had read the first few pages, and waxing warmer, began to recite the passage: "To which of these immortals, the highest prize?" &c., &c.--the words almost turned to song. She read the poem slowly to the end, and gently closing the book--"How do you like it?" she whispered.