This care seemed to be unnecessary. Sophie found an explanation for the clouds which darkened Franz's brow when he thought himself unobserved, in the overwhelming burden of his professional duties; and for his frequent and long interviews with her father, in the nature of his practice. Since the condition of her father no longer filled her with apprehensions, the happy cheerfulness of Sophie had fully reappeared. She worked hard at her trousseau, and complained to Franz of the confusion which the care for so many and so varied things produced in her head. How much would a knowledge of the transactions that took place between Franz and her father have interfered with the happiness which she enjoyed in these days, as she labored to build her little nest like a merry bird full of song and playful flutterings, if she had known that the money with which she paid her long bills so cheerfully had come from the purse of her betrothed? She had easily consoled herself as to the grief arising from her inability to get ready by the day on which Franz insisted with very unusual pertinacity; she had even openly confessed that she had never looked upon it as such a very great misfortune to have to begin her housekeeping with a few dozen napkins, towels, etc., which were not yet hemmed, or marked in full. Nothing, therefore, was more painful to Sophie in these days of excitement and great pressure than that the familiar circle could not, as usually, assemble at night around the fire-place in the sitting-room. The father, although able to sit up daily a little longer, had yet to retire quite early; Franz was often down town till far in the night, or he had to study in his rooms; even "the third in the league," the old student, as he called himself, Bemperlein, _alias_ Bemperly, did not show himself nowadays, and Sophie had at last deemed it her duty to inquire for him at his lodging, thinking that he might be sick, and that Franz had kept it secret from her so as to cause her no apprehension. But she found the old student in his laboratory, in the midst of phials, retorts, boxes, and instruments--looking, if not like Faust, at least like Faust's famulus--at all events very busy and industrious, but evidently not in danger of death from sickness. Bemperlein excused himself on the score of his work--a very complicated chemical analysis, which must not be interrupted. How could Sophie think he had taken anything amiss?--he, and take amiss! and from Sophie!--really, the analysis alone was to blame, and as an evidence of it he promised to come that very night and stay as long as ever.