I confess it
now. You are not angry with me?"
"Don't fear," replied Wolf smilingly, "Helene told me about it as soon
as I came home. I was not jealous of you."
"Thank you," replied Sigmund with comical irritability. "Summoning my
whole vocabulary, I said all sorts of pretty things to her, but while
talking excitedly, with burning cheeks, she took up the little dog our
friend Tannemann gave her, and calmly began to hunt for fleas in his
curly hair. This made me so furious that I started up and rushed off
without a farewell."
"But you were appeased the next day," observed Wolf.
"Of course. When my blood had become cool, her composure in the
presence of my love-making inspired respect. Then we became the best
friends, and she remarked: 'Since you no longer say that you love me, I
love you.' And do you remember the Sunday excursion?"
"Certainly. To St Cloud. With Tannemann."
"It was enough to made one die of laughing. Helene intentionally
talked extremely fast, so that Tannemann, who knew little about French,
could not understand her. He was terribly provoked because he was
continually obliged to ask her to repeat everything two or three times.
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