And with this he went out again; and all of them now saw clearly that the grave little mannikin was in fact a gray Parrot.  Conrector Paulmann and Registrator Heerbrand raised a horse-laugh, which reverberated through the room, and, in the intervals, Veronica was moaning and whimpering, as if torn by nameless sorrow; but as to the student Anselmus, the madness of inward horror was darting through him, and unconsciously he ran out of the door, into the street.  Instinctively he reached his house, his garret.  Ere long Veronica came in to him, with a peaceful and friendly look, and asked him why, in his intoxication, he had so alarmed her; and desired him to be on his guard against new imaginations, while working at Archivarius Lindhorst’s.  “Good night, good night, my beloved friend!” whispered Veronica, scarce audibly, and breathed a kiss on his lips.  He stretched out his arms to clasp her, but the dreamy shape had vanished, and he awoke cheerful and refreshed.  He could not but laugh heartily at the effects of the punch; but in thinking of Veronica, he felt pervaded by a most delightful feeling.  “To her alone,” said he within himself, “do I owe this return from my insane whims.  In good sooth, I was little better than the man who believed himself to be of glass; or he who durst not leave his room for fear the hens should eat him, as he imagined himself to be a barleycorn.  But as soon as I am Hofrat I will marry Mademoiselle Paulmann and be happy, and there’s an end of it.”

At noon, as he walked through Archivarius Lindhorst’s garden, he could not help wondering how all this had once appeared so strange and marvelous to him.  He now saw nothing but common, earthen flowerpots, quantities of geraniums, myrtles, and the like.  Instead of the glittering party-colored birds which used to flout him, there were only a few sparrows fluttering hither and thither, which raised an unpleasant, unintelligible cry at sight of Anselmus.  The azure room also had quite a different look; and he could not understand how that glaring blue, and those unnatural golden trunks of palm-trees, with their shapeless glistening leaves, should ever have pleased him for a moment.  The Archivarius looked at him with a most peculiar, ironical smile, and asked:  “Well, how did you like the punch last night, good Anselmus?”

“Ah, doubtless you have heard from the gray Parrot how—­” answered the student Anselmus, quite ashamed; but he stopped short, bethinking him that this appearance of the Parrot was all a piece of jugglery of the confused senses.

“I was there myself,” said Archivarius Lindhorst; “did you not see me?  But, among the mad pranks you were playing, I had nigh got lamed; for I was sitting in the punch-bowl, at the very moment when Registrator Heerbrand laid hands on it, to dash it against the ceiling; and I had to make a quick retreat into the Conrector’s pipehead.  Now, adieu, Herr Anselmus!  Be diligent at your task; for the lost day also you shall have a speziesthaler, because you worked so well before.”