'He says, is it to be believed that a being of gentle feelings rising from his meal of roots—'
'Gott, Gott,—meal of roots!'
'—would take delight in sports of blood?'
'Enough. I am not in the temper for Shelley.'
'But you quite loved him a day or two ago.'
'Except food, nobody loves anything—anything at all—while his stomach is empty.'
'I don't think that's very pretty, Papachen.'
'But it is a great truth. Remember it if you should marry. Shape your conduct by its light. Three times every day, Rose-Marie,—that is, before breakfast, before dinner, and before supper,—no husband loves any wife. She may be as beautiful as the stars, as wise as Pallas-Athene, as cultured as Goethe, as entertaining as a circus, as affectionate as you please—he cares nothing for her. She exists not. Go, my child, and prepare the coffee, and let the bread-and-butter be cut thick.'
Well, since then I have been cutting bread-and-butter and pouring out cups of coffee. I thought Papa would never leave off. If that is the effect of a vegetarian dinner I don't think it can really be less expensive than meat. Papa ate half a pound of butter, which is sixty pfennings, and for sixty pfennings I could have bought him a Kalbsschnitzel so big that it would have lasted, under treatment, two days. I must go for a walk and think it out.
Yours sincerely,