"Well, gentlemen, just imagine my position, if you can. Before I could collect my five senses the door was broken open, and the count rushed in, holding two pistols in his hands, and five men-servants with lights and big sticks behind him." "How did the count look?" Berger asked in a low voice, without raising his head. "Well, old gentleman, I had not exactly time to look closely at him. I only know that he was a fine-looking, tall man, with a pair of eyes that fairly burnt with fury. 'Ah, I have caught you, rascal?' he cried. Crack! went a ball past my left ear--crack! and another ball went past my right ear. Well, gentlemen, that was, after all, a little too strong, and not exactly the way to make Caspar Schmenckel's acquaintance. What could I do? I seized the count around the body, and threw him out of the window; and in case he should have broken something in falling, I threw one of the servants right after him. The others were frightened and ran away as fast as they could. I ran after them through the other rooms across the hall and down the stairs, and, gentlemen, when I had gotten so far I found the way into the street easily enough by myself. How do you like my story, professor?" and Mr. Schmenckel put his broad hand upon Berger's shoulder. Berger raised his head. His face was deadly pale, his eyes were rolling fearfully, his gray hair hung down into his face. "If you can tell the truth, man," he said, with weird-sounding voice, "answer me; have you told the truth?" "I believe the old gentleman has taken a little too much," said Mr. Schmenckel, good-naturedly. "Yes, I have drunk too much," cried Berger, gesticulating violently with his hands--"too much of the wretched beverage of this miserable life, which is utterly good for nothing, and the liquor has gotten into my head. Ha! ha! ha!" It was a terrible laughter; but the half-drunk visitors thought it highly amusing. "Oh, ho! the professor is taking to it very kindly," cried Mr. Schmenckel, holding his sides. "Speech, speech! Let the professor give us a speech!" Oswald had jumped up and stood by Berger's side. He tried in his anxiety to calm the over-excited man, and to persuade him to leave the house. Berger paid no attention to him. He stood there, leaning with both his hands upon the table, as Oswald had seen him do so often in his lecture-room. "Write, gentlemen," he said, "this is the quintessence of the long syllogism, the parts of which I have just explained to you: "I climbed on a pear-tree, I wanted to dig beets, Then have I all my life Eaten no better plums.