You have made me what I am; you have
often been stern, you have made me very unhappy----"
"I?" said the old maid. "Are you going to pour out all your nonsense
once more about poetry and the arts, and to crack your fingers and
stretch your arms while you spout about the ideal, and beauty, and all
your northern madness?--Beauty is not to compare with solid pudding
--and what am I!--You have ideas in your brain? What is the use of
them? I too have ideas. What is the good of all the fine things you may
have in your soul if you can make no use of them? Those who have ideas
do not get so far as those who have none, if they don't know which way
to go.
"Instead of thinking over your ideas you must work.--Now, what have
you done while I was out?"
"What did your pretty cousin say?"
"Who told you she was pretty?" asked Lisbeth sharply, in a tone hollow
with tiger-like jealousy.
"Why, you did."
"That was only to see your face. Do you want to go trotting after
petticoats? You who are so fond of women, well, make them in bronze.
Let us see a cast of your desires, for you will have to do without the
ladies for some little time yet, and certainly without my cousin, my
good fellow. She is not game for your bag; that young lady wants a man
with sixty thousand francs a year--and has found him!
"Why, your bed is not made!" she exclaimed, looking into the adjoining
room.
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