Balder's convalescence was more rapid than could have been hoped for. At the end of a fortnight it had progressed so far that he was able to sit up a few hours and, though with the greatest caution, employ himself a little, read, and take part in quiet conversation. His youthful vigor seemed to kindle anew and pervade all his organs with vital strength. He had never seemed more cheerful than during these two weeks, never more winning than when he acknowledged the affection shown him by even the merest acquaintances. When Frau Valentin, who had daily supplied him with strengthening broths, jellies, and the most delicate game, was at last on the tenth day after his attack, permitted, as a reward for her motherly care, to see him five minutes, the short visit was enough to make the worthy lady fairly in love with her ward. Every day Madame Feyertag's first business was to go to the tun to inquire in person how he had spent the night; light a fire in the stove, because the girl made too much noise and Reginchen still avoided the room, and to water the beautiful palms, which Toinette the day after her visit had sent to the tun, to delight the invalid's eyes. She did not come again herself, but the dwarf with the pale blue eyes was sent every noon for the latest bulletin, which Edwin, faithful to his promise, wrote every morning. These lines were the only bond of intercourse between them. He had vowed not to leave Balder's side again until he should be well, with the exception of the hour at noon, when he delivered a lecture, at which time, his place was supplied by one of his friends. Either Mohr came to play chess, or Franzelius, who no longer seemed to have any other occupation, sat down beside him with a book and read aloud, an accomplishment of which he was a master. But not a word was exchanged with the patient on the subject that engrossed the thoughts of both. The names of Christiane and Reginchen never crossed their lips, and even the little artist, who often looked in, had agreed with Mohr that the unhappy girl's fate ought not to be mentioned in the sick room. One beautiful sunny day in November, Edwin had set out on his daily walk to the university, and Franzelius was preparing to read aloud from a translation of Sophocles, when Balder, who was reclining near the window in a comfortable arm-chair sent by Frau Valentin, suddenly laid his pale slender hand on the book and said: "We won't read to-day, Franzelius, I'd rather talk about all sorts of things with you. I feel so well that it's not the least exertion to speak, and the sun is shining so brightly in the clear sky! Only to see that, is such an incomparable happiness that to enjoy it one would gladly endure all the evils of this life. Don't you think so?"