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."
A joyful fear fell upon Oswald. Who else could this be but Helen? It is true the step was a bold one, but what is it that love does not dare? He threw with rapid pen a few lines on the paper and gave it to Lebrecht, with the direction to be sure and not to lose the note, an admonition which seemed to be but too well justified by the exceedingly stupid appearance of the orphan boy.
The hours which had to pass till the evening came seemed to him to creep slowly. Misfortune would have it, besides, that he had to give two lessons that afternoon, and to an upper class, where the pupils disliked him particularly on account of his partiality. There was no lack, therefore, of annoyances and tricks, especially as their young teacher seemed to be in worse humor than usually, and Oswald allowed himself to be carried away by his passionate anger--a scene which restored quiet in the frightened class, but which caused him greater annoyance than anything else.
Wrath and disgust in his heart, he left the college. Not far from there he met Franz. No meeting could have been more inconvenient to him just then. He had cultivated the friendship of this excellent man very little; he had hardly been two or three times at Doctor Roban's house, and generally with a hope of not finding Franz there. He knew that such conduct towards a man to whom he was deeply indebted laid him open to the charge of gross ingratitude, but he preferred that to the sense of humiliation which he always felt when the grave eyes of his friend were resting upon him.
"How are you, Oswald?" said Franz, crossing over from the other side of the street and cordially shaking hands with him. "You must be desperately busy that we see so little of you."
"Not exactly," replied Oswald; "but what little I have to do is all the more disagreeable."
"How so?"
"That school! A single hour in the wretched treadmill spoils my temper for the other twenty-three hours of the day. Rather a sweeper in the streets than a teacher."