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The tears came to Tussmann's eyes as he strove to disabuse Bosswinkel's mind of this idea; but Bosswinkel grew graver and graver, and at last said: "The more I think of it, the more I feel convinced that those people you met with were old Manasseh, the Jew, and Leonhard, the goldsmith, a very clever hand at juggling tricks, who comes every now and then to Berlin.
The Goldsmith let him go, and he tumbled down, exhausted, in the long, wet grass. Believing himself to be in the basin, he cried out, "Oh, cold death! oh, green rashes! oh, meadows! I bid ye farewell. I leave you my kindest wishes, dearest Miss Albertine Bosswinkel. Commissionsrath, good-bye! The unfortunate 'intended' is lying amongst the frogs that praise God in the summer time."
As he was making these asseverations, there was heard a loud knocking at the door, and in came that old Manasseh of whom Bosswinkel had been speaking. As soon as Tussmann saw him he cried out: "Oh, gracious powers of Heaven! That's the old Jew who made the gold pieces out of the radish, and threw them in the Goldsmith's face! The dreadful Goldsmith will be coming next, I suppose."
Whatever for did you go wandering about the streets?" "Oh, Bosswinkel!" lamented Tussman, "my old friend! my chum at the Grey Friars! don't you go and insult me by base insinuations of that sort. Let me tell you that the infernal, diabolical enchantment which was practised upon me did not fairly commence till I got into the street.
"Oh, Lord," said Bosswinkel, "but he must let me have the picture back, the scoundrel? Ay; that he must, the first thing in the morning." He's making a copper etching of you, as I have just described you. He'll have several hundred copies thrown off, touch them up himself con amore, and send them all over the world to Hamburg, Bremen, Lübeck, London even."
"What?" cried the goldsmith, furiously "what business have you with Miss Albertine Bosswinkel?" "My dear sir!" said Tussmann, timidly "good gracious! My dear friend, she is the very lady whom I have made up my mind to marry!" "Good God, sir!" the goldsmith cried, with a face as red as a furnace, and eyes glaring with anger; "you must be out of your reason altogether.
But the reason why she was so much more beautiful than she ever had been before was that love and hope beamed in her eyes and bloomed on her cheeks. Bosswinkel, in a burst of hospitality, had provided a splendid lunch.
For instance, when his dead wife first said she loved him, or when Albertine was born, or when he unexpectedly saw some dear friend whom he had thought to be lost to him; and to try and look as he had done then. "Wait a moment, Mr. Lehsen," said Bosswinkel; "I know what to do. One day, about three months ago, I got a letter from Hamburg telling me I had drawn a big prize in the lottery.
Commissionsrath Bosswinkel had been at school with Tussmann at the Grey Friars, and from that period dated the intimate friendship which there had always been between them.
"I have come here in person, dear Miss Bosswinkel, to lay myself at your feet. Of course you know that is a mere façon de parler. Baron Dümmerl doesn't really lay himself at anybody's feet, not even at the Emperor's. What I mean is let me have a kiss." So saying, he went nearer to Albertine, and bent down towards her.
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