Since that visit not a day had elapsed on which a poetical epistle written by Primula had not reached Oswald. She inquired anxiously after the success of his efforts--little notes which Oswald carefully kept, and then read at night, of course without mentioning names, in the city cellar before the "Rats' Nest." This was the name of a secret society which held every evening its sessions in the above-mentioned rooms, and to which Oswald had the honor to belong as honorary member. His reading invariably provoked a Homeric laughter on the part of the assembled rats. It was the day after the party at the Grenwitz house, when the professor's servant Lebrecht brought him once more one of these poetical inquiries, written on pink paper. This time, however, it seemed to be of special importance, for Lebrecht, a pale young man of fifteen years, who had been a charity boy a few months before, and still looked more than half-starved, remained standing near the door and said, with his hollow, orphan-house voice, "An answer is requested." Upon the envelope, also, in one of the corners, the letters A. a. i. r. were written daintily, surrounded by a wreath of forget-me-nots. The note was of course in verses, and ran thus: TO A YOUNG EAGLE FLYING THROUGH THE CLOUDS. The proud young eagle, Why does he stay so far, Amid gray crows and rooks, He my life's only star? Oh, how I love to see The dark-brown eagle's hair, On your dear noble head, With the blue eyes fair. Know not what was done! Oh glorious conquest! When in thy eyes I looked, Was lost fore'er my rest. But to the stars he soars, He prizes naught below, That I, poor Primula, Am naught to him, I know! Oswald read the verses twice and a third time without understanding what answer could be expected to such nonsense, until he discovered far down in the corner a microscopic "_tournez s'il vous plaît_. He turned the leaf over, and there, on the other side, he read: "Dear O.: I must needs descend to prose. I was yesterday in most noble company, about whom I can tell you much if you will listen. This evening a lady is coming to see me (a member of the same society) who has very distinctly intimated her desire to meet you at my house, and who has something to communicate to you which may possibly be decisive for your future happiness. It is true I should be deeply grieved to lose you, but my friendship for the young eagle (see page 1) is as pure as the element which he beats with his mighty wings. Will you call at seven o'clock on "Your servant, Primula."