One of the long-haired sang the champagne song, and Wurzelmann made a witty speech. Döderlein suggested that now was the time to let the mice dance and the fleas hop. When one of the lost-in-dreams sang David’s March, which according to the rules of Bayreuth could not be classed as real music, Döderlein exclaimed: “Give me Lethe, my fair one.” By “Lethe” he meant punch. Daniel drank Lethe too. He embraced old Herold, shook hands with Andreas Döderlein, and tried to waltz with Wurzelmann. He was not drunk; he was merely happy. Then it became too close for him in the room. He took his hat, put on his overcoat, and hurried out. The air was warm, mild. A south wind was blowing. Heaven above, heaven below, the houses were standing on clouds. One breath made him thirsty for the next one. There was a bay-window; it was so beautiful that he felt like kneeling before it. There was a fountain; it was so snug and exotic that it seemed like a poem. There were the arches of the bridge; in them was the dim reflection of the water. There were two towers; they were as delicate as a spider’s web. He rejoiced and exclaimed: “Oh world, art thou real? Art thou my world, and am I living in thee? My world, my year, my time, and I in it all, I myself!” III He stood on Ægydius Place, and looked up at the windows in Jordan’s house. They were all dark. He wanted to call out, but the name that was on his lips filled him with anxiety. The passionate flutter of his heart almost tore his breast asunder. He had to do something; he had to speak; he had to ask questions and hear a human voice. Consequently, he hurried out to the Füll, stood under Benda’s window, and called Benda’s name. The clocks struck three. The blinds were soon drawn to one side, and Benda’s stoutish figure appeared at the open window. “Daniel? Is it you? What’s up?” “Nothing. I merely wanted to bring you New Year’s greetings.” “Do you think you are bringing me something good? Go home and go to bed.” “Ah, let me come in a little while, Friedrich. Let’s chat for a moment or two about happiness!” “Be reasonable! We might frighten happiness away by our talk.” “Philistine! Well, give me your blessing at least.” “You have it. Now go, night owl, and let the people sleep.” Another window opened on the ground floor. Herr Carovius’s desolate nocturnal physiognomy appeared at the window, looked up, looked down on the disturber of the peace on the street, and with one mighty grim, grinning sound on his lips, his revengeful fist swinging in the meanwhile, the indignant man closed the window with a bang. Something impelled Daniel to return to Ægydius Place. Again he looked up at the windows, this time beseechingly. The storm within his heart became more violent. For a long time he ran through the streets, and reached home at last along toward five o’clock.