The last words Amor uttered with deeply-moved voice. The faces of the company around the fire-place, which had at first beamed with merriment, had become graver and graver, and through the half-opened door, around which the servants were crowding, suppressed sobs were heard. "Take a glass of our brewing, Bemperly," said Sophie, offering Amor a glass. "Your health, Miss Sophie," replied Amor, emptying the glass at one gulp. "But now, sit down again; I have not done yet." Amor stepped back again, rattled his quiver as if to convince himself that there were some arrows left, and then said: "So fierce, as you have just now seen, Are Amor's arrows sharp and keen, Yet does at times he find it hard, When SHE keeps anxious watch and ward, The good young god is full of zeal--" At these words he glanced adoringly at mademoiselle-- "But she thinks not of woe or weal, When he of tender love then speaks, 'I do not understand!' she shrieks." This allusion, quite intelligible to all present, called forth a universal smile, which changed into loud laughter when Mademoiselle Marguerite, who had hardly understood a single word of all that Amor had said, but who clearly saw from the laughter of her friends that something particularly witty had been uttered, turned round to Sophie and asked aloud: "I do not understand, _qu'est-ce qu'il dit?_" Amor was clever enough to fall in with his own hearty laugh; but immediately he continued with greater gravity than before: "Then comes the youth in greatest haste And begs of me, who am Amor chaste, 'With sharpest arrow hit, I pray, That wicked girl, so that she may--'" With these words Amor laid his hand upon his heart: "'Hereafter know how one does feel When one does love her with true zeal.' And I replied: 'my dear good boy, I help you forthwith with this toy, The sharpest arrow that is here, I'll shoot it at her from quite near, Whoever feels this sharp, good dart, With love will burn deep in his heart.'" Amor showed the arrow which he had taken from the quiver while reciting the last words. To the India-rubber ball a slip of paper was fastened on which something was written, though it could not be read at such a distance. He aimed at Mademoiselle Marguerite and called out with a loud voice, "'If that's not good to awaken love, Tell me what better is, my dear sweet dove?'" The arrow flew from the bow into Mademoiselle Marguerite's lap. But Amor did not wait for the results of his heroic deed; he turned his back, adorned with the goose wings, and hurried out, followed by the loud laughter of the company.