"You little fool!" said Oswald, and affectionately caressed Bruno's hair. "Now you are sitting in the pit before the stage of life, and the pasteboard roll looks to your enthusiastic eye a huge mountain, and all the tinsel genuine gold. When you are on the stage yourself, the sweet rosy veil of illusion will drop from before your eyes, and you will see your mistake. But be it so! After your first painful disappointment, you will soon understand that it cannot be otherwise; you will not despise your brother, because you now see that his proud knightly cloak is of faded silk, and sadly patched, and his spurs nothing but brass--but hush! here comes Mr. Timm and mademoiselle! It seems Mr. Timm improves the opportunity to cultivate his French. We will not disturb him in his praiseworthy purposes. Let us turn off here." Mr. Timm, who had not noticed Oswald and Bruno, now came by, arm in arm with Mademoiselle Marguerite, speaking eagerly, but carefully softening his clear, loud voice. He had indeed known how to improve the "opportunity," though in another sense than that to which Oswald alluded. The young man attached very little importance to his pronunciation of French, but very much to the evident advantages he might derive from the good-will of the young lady, who seemed to preside over the interior of the household. As he would probably spend several weeks at the château, this was a matter of great interest to him, and he had taken prompt measures to secure the favor of the little Frenchwoman, which might in many ways mitigate the monotony of country life. During the delightful, cosey little _tête-à-tête_, the conversation had been carried on in German, with an occasional use of French, as mademoiselle spoke German quite fluently and Mr. Timm spoke French very badly, and the harmless, innocent, and truth-loving young man hated nothing more than the possibility of being understood imperfectly, or, worse than that, of being misunderstood. "And you have been here long?" he asked. "Three years." "Is it possible? And you did not die of _ennui_! You must have a famous constitution." "_Plaît-il?_ "I mean, it is desperately tiresome to live year after year in this hole, and, moreover, to live here in such very charming society. But I suppose you have much to do?" "_Enormément!_ I have to work like a _forçat_." "Like what?" "_Vous ne savez pas ce que c'est qu'un forçat?_" "No--never mind. We'll say, like a horse; that will do, I dare say. You say then, they make you work like a _forçat_?" "_Justement!_ I have to open and to lock all doors----" "That's not so bad," remarked Timm. "I must hear all the day: Mademoiselle, do this! Mademoiselle, do that! And the evening, when I am tired that I cannot keep open the eyes, I must read the stupid old books till madam has the kindness to say: _C'est assez!--Non, madame, ce n'est pas assez; c'est trop--mille fois trop!_" said the lively little lady, and stamped with the foot.