“No, you good, thoughtless man of the world,” said Schiller, smiling; “no, I must remain here! I must work on at ‘Don Carlos,’ who gives my mind no rest by day or night, and insists on being completed!”
“But promise me, at least, Fritz, that you will breakfast before you go to work?”
“I promise you! Now go, Andrew, for the good Schwelm is already holding the door open, and waiting for you.”
CHAPTER III.
HENRIETTA VON WOLZOGEN.
“Breakfast,” murmured Schiller, after his two friends had taken leave of him. “Oh, yes, it were certainly no bad idea to indulge in a hot cup of coffee and fresh sweet rolls. But it costs too much, and one must be contented if one can only have a cup of fresh water and a piece of bread.”
He stood up and returned to the chamber, to complete the toilet so hastily made before, to adjust his hair, and put on the sober, well-worn suit which constituted alike his work-day and holiday attire.
After having finished his toilet, Schiller took the pitcher, which stood on a tin waiter by the side of a glass, and bounded gayly down the stairway into the large courtyard and to the fountain, to fill his pitcher at the mouth of the tragic mask from which a stream of water constantly gushed.
This was Schiller’s first morning errand. Every morning the people in the house could see the pale, thin young man go to the fountain with his pitcher; and it amused them to watch him as he walked up and down the yard with long strides, looking heavenward, his head thrown back, and his chest expanded with the fresh morning air, which he inhaled in long draughts. Then, when he had stretched and exercised his limbs, breathed the air, and looked at the heavens, he returned to the fountain, took up his pitcher, running over with water, ran into the house, up the stairway, and re-entered his dingy little room.