He looked crestfallen.
'But ultimately,' I said, wishing to cheer him.
'Ultimately—ultimately,' he echoed peevishly. 'The word has a knell-like sound about it that I do not like. When we have reached thy Ultimately I shall no longer be in a state to desire or appreciate Bielschowsky's Goethe. My brain, by then, will be clothed with grass, and my veins be streams of running water.'
'Well, darling,' said I, putting my arm through his, 'you'll be at least very nice and refreshing, and extraordinarily like a verse of the Psalms.'
And for two days he has held out undaunted, and here comes our lentil soup and roast apples, so good-by.
Yours sincerely,
ROSE-MARIE SCHMIDT.
LVIII
Galgenberg, Dec. 4th.