put away from me as
odious, came into my mind and oppressed me, now that there seemed a
prospect of winning her. I prayed fervently for the comedian's success.

But I had to be patient and hide my feelings.

While I was reading his wife's note, the Baron sat down at the table,
which was littered with old books and documents. He was playing with
his carved ivory baton, absent-mindedly, as if he were conscious of
his inferiority in literary matters. He defeated all my attempts
to interest him in my work with an indifferent, "Yes, yes, very
interesting!"

Abashed by the evidences of his rank, his neckpiece, the sash, the
brilliant uniform, I endeavoured to readjust the balance by showing off
my knowledge. But I only succeeded in making him feel uncomfortable.

The sword versus the pen! Down with the aristocrat, up with the
commoner! Did the woman, when later on she chose the father of
her children from the aristocracy of the brain, see the future,
clairvoyantly, without being conscious of it?

In spite of his constant efforts to treat me as his equal, the Baron,
without admitting it even to himself, was always constrained in my
presence. At times he paid due deference to my superior knowledge,
tacitly acknowledging his inferiority to me in certain respects; at
other times he would ride the high horse; then a word from the Baroness
was sufficient to bring him to his senses. In his wife's eyes the
inherited coat of arms counted for very little, and the dusty coat
of the man of letters completely eclipsed the full-dress uniform of
the captain. Had he not been himself aware of this when he donned a
painter's blouse and entered the studio at Duesseldorf as the least
of all the pupils? In all probability he had, but still there always
remained a certain refinement, an inherited tradition, and he was by no
means free from the jealous hatred which exists between students and
officers.

For the moment I was necessary to him, as I shared his sorrow, and
therefore he invited me to dine with him.

After the coffee he suggested 