the most profound love-scene which the whole of dramatic literature possesses: Kätchen reposing in a half-somnambulistic slumber under the elder bush, and answering the questions of the Count. "Verliebt ja, wie ein Käfer bist du mir" ("In love, yes, like a beetle are you").
"That is to you!" Minna exclaimed. "I could also have said that to you in those days."
We laughed and kissed one another.
After having read fluently for about half an hour, she suddenly stopped and blushed crimson; but I had hardly discovered this before I had the book hurled into my face; she had only meant to throw it from her, but, as I was seated just opposite, it had struck me; perhaps she also had involuntarily been annoyed because I had waited for her to continue.
"What have I done!" she exclaimed, starting up and throwing herself on her knees beside me. "What a wretch I am! Have I hurt you?"
I laughingly assured her that I was more surprised than anything else.
"I could not read it to you—why does he write such things? And I had not sufficient presence of mind to skip it."
I tried to take the book, but she snatched it up, and having smoothed out the crumpled leaves, she put it back in the bookcase.
"Poor man! You had to suffer for it!"
"Yes, just as I look up—Bang!"
And we burst into uncontrollable laughter. The old lady had shown some signs of waking up when the book had come into contact with my head, and our laughter thoroughly aroused her.
"You make such a rumpus, children, that we shall soon
