"I would not be true to myself if I were to deny it," said Mr. Timm, placing his hand on his heart, "and you know, madam, I hate all want of truthfulness." "_Eh bien_," said the baroness, "and you shall yourself select the ingredients. Will you arrange it with mademoiselle?" "Famous," said Mr. Timm; "madam, permit me to kiss your hand," and after having obtained and used the permission, he drew the little Frenchwoman aside to teach her the receipt for a famous bowl of punch. They had been sitting perhaps for an hour in the salon, pleasantly chatting, Mr. Timm had sung several comic songs of his own composition with the accompaniment of the piano, and performed a few burlesque scenes, in which he represented two or three different persons with as many different voices,--in short, he had done all in his power to amuse the somewhat silent company, and yet been compelled to drink his self-brewed punch almost alone,--when the baroness proposed that they should retire. Mr. Timm requested, as his only reward for his efforts, the permission to kiss the ladies' hands, which was granted him very graciously by the baroness. Miss Helen, however, refused, and told him curtly, and slightly contracting her beautifully arched brows, that the artist's reward was in himself. Mr. Timm began to remonstrate, but Oswald cut the matter short by wishing everybody "Good-night!" and leaving the room with Bruno (Malte had gone to bed before), thus compelling Mr. Timm, who lived in the same part of the building, to follow his example. Altogether Oswald had not treated his old friend exactly well, and it required all the good-nature and the humility of the latter to bear it quietly, and to continue in his usual reckless way of talking till they had reached their rooms. "God be thanked!" said Oswald, when he saw himself alone in his room with Bruno, "at last we are rid of the eternal talker. And I have not yet been able to ask your pardon, Bruno, for my coldness and indifference at our last parting, nor to thank you for forgetting it all like a good brother.--Was it you who prepared me such a friendly welcome? Who put those flowers there?" "Yes----" "And the ivy wreath around the head of Apollo?" "Yes." "And you put the arm-chair in its place?" "Yes----" "You dear, dear fellow! Come, let us both sit down in it, and now you must tell me all about your wanderings, of the cities you have seen, of the Cyclopes you have blinded, of the sufferings you have endured--all, all in order, you know, as Polyphemus milks his sheep."