"Well, in the jeweler's window at the Altmarkt?" "We were always forbidden to stand in front of shop windows." Mr. Pieper laughed his vilest laugh. "I advise you when you are out walking with your husband to stand in front of _every_ shop window. Such little attentions may seldom be reclaimed. Pay special regard to pearls. In that way you will lay by a little reserve which will stand you in mighty good stead in your hour of need--and your hour of need will come, you may be sure it will." Lilly nodded her head and thought: "I will never, never, do that." Mr. Pieper stroked his shining bald spot several times with his plump, white hand, and continued: "Well, what else have I to say to you? I have a good deal more advice to give, but I fear not being understood. Just one thing, for the first few months. Marriage, no matter what sort of marriage, causes a peculiar derangement of the nervous system in natures like yours. Should you feel an inclination to cry, take a bromide. In general, take plenty of bromides--whether in case of great love, or--hm--great aversion. At certain times pull a cap over your head, so that you see nothing, hear nothing, and feel nothing, and, as it were, shunt yourself off from what goes on around you, yourself, your volition, and your feelings. The close atmosphere of the chamber which will at first envelope you will gradually evaporate--in this case probably at the end of a few months. Then you will breathe fresh air again, and instead of a tester, you will once more see the heaven of your maiden days. But, whatever happens, it is dangerous when one's nerves are overstimulated, to direct one's fancy too much upon the immediate environment and seek the necessary compensation that very instant. Turn from what is near, and dream about the remote blue mountains. Let your happiness ever dwell at a safe distance. You are young. It will draw closer. Give it time to become full fledged. I assume you haven't understood a word." "Oh, yes I have," stammered Lilly, who wished not to be considered stupid, though he was right--his words fell upon her like hailstones, of which she was able to gather only a few here and there. Nevertheless, she had understood the last part, that about dreaming of the remote blue mountains. It did her heart good, and she would take his advice. "However that may be," Mr. Pieper continued, "some sentence or other will occur to you on occasion. One point more, the most delicate of all, because it is, so to speak, the most spiritual. If what is about you gives no sound or response, if it does not echo to your call, you must not grieve, nor attempt to alter it. Cracked bells should not be rung. Rather make your own music. If I am not mistaken, you have a whole orchestra at your disposal." "I have the Song of Songs," thought Lilly, triumphantly.