"Herr Professor! I am in a state of desperation, and all ordinary considerations are in abeyance. Herr Professor, I sincerely trust you will not take it ill if a Clerk of the Privy Chancery, who is (as we have said) in a state of desperation, and who (in ordinary circumstances) is well versed in the _convenances_ of official etiquette--I say, I hope you won't take it ill, Herr Professor, if I assert, openly and unceremoniously, that (under all the circumstances of the case) I wish to heaven that you and all your magic tricks were at the devil! along with your unendurable familiarity, your 'Tussmann! Tussmann!' never giving me my official title!----there!" The Goldsmith let him go, and he tumbled down, exhausted, in the long, wet grass. Believing himself to be in the basin, he cried out, "Oh, cold death! oh, green rashes! oh, meadows! I bid ye farewell. I leave you my kindest wishes, dearest Miss Albertine Bosswinkel. Commissionsrath, good-bye! The unfortunate 'intended' is lying amongst the frogs that praise God in the summer time." "Tussmann," cried the Goldsmith, in a powerful voice, "don't you see that you're out of your senses, and worn out and wretched into the bargain? You want to send me to the devil! What if I _were_ the Devil, and should set to and twist that neck of yours, here on this spot, where you think you're lying in the water?" Tussmann sighed, groaned, and shuddered as if in the most violent ague. "But I mean you kindly, Tussmann," the Goldsmith said; "and your desperate condition excuses everything. Get up, and come along with me." And he helped him to get on his legs. Tussmann, completely exhausted, said, in a whisper-- "I am completely in your power, most honoured Herr Professor. Do what you will with my miserable body; but I most humbly beg you to spare my immortal soul." "Do not talk such absurd nonsense," the Goldsmith said, "but come along with me as fast as you can." He took hold of Tussmann by the arm, and led him away. But when they came to where the walk which leads to the Zelten crosses at right angles, he pulled up, and said-- "Wait a moment, Tussmann. You're wet through, and look like I don't know what. Just let me wipe your face, at all events." The Goldsmith took a handkerchief of dazzling whiteness out of his pocket, and wiped Tussmann's face with it. The bright lights of the Weberschen Zelt were visible, shining brightly through the trees. Tussmann cried out, in alarm-- "For God's sake, Herr Professor, where are you taking me? Not into town? not to my own lodgings? not (oh, heavens!) into society, amongst my fellow-men? Good heavens! I can't be seen. Wherever I go I give rise to unpleasantness--create a _scandalum_."