viewed things in a different light.  Distinction—­what did that amount to in the end?  As the days passed by with less and less of joy for him, he more than once recalled a half-forgotten minister’s anecdote from the time of the elder Ladenberg, who, upon receiving the Order of the Red Eagle, for which he had long been waiting, threw it down in a rage and exclaimed:  “Lie there till you turn black.”  It probably did turn into a black one subsequently, but many days too late and certainly without real satisfaction for the receiver.  Everything that is to give us pleasure must come at the right time and in the right circumstances, for what delights us today may be valueless tomorrow.  Innstetten felt this deeply, and as certainly as he had formerly laid store by honors and distinctions coming from his highest superiors, just so certainly was he now firmly convinced that the glittering appearance of things amounted to but little, and that what is called happiness, if it existed at all, is something other than this appearance.  “Happiness, if I am right, lies in two things:  being exactly where one belongs—­but what official can say that of himself?—­and, especially, performing comfortably the most commonplace functions, that is, getting enough sleep and not having new boots that pinch.  When the 720 minutes of a twelve-hour day pass without any special annoyance that can be called a happy day.”

Innstetten was today in the mood for such gloomy reflections.  When he took up the second letter and read it he ran his hand over his forehead, with the painful feeling that there is such a thing as happiness, that he had once possessed it, but had lost it and could never again recover it.  Johanna entered and announced Privy Councillor Wuellersdorf, who was already standing on the threshold and said:  “Congratulations, Innstetten.”

“I believe you mean what you say; the others will be vexed.  However—­”

“However.  You are surely not going to be pessimistic at a moment like this.”

“No.  The graciousness of His Majesty makes me feel ashamed, and the friendly feeling of the minister, to whom I owe all this, almost more.”

“But—­”

[Illustration:  SUPPER AT A COURT BALL From the Painting by Adolph van Menzel]

“But I have forgotten how to rejoice.  If I said that to anybody but you my words would be considered empty phrases.  But you understand me.  Just look around you.  How empty and deserted everything is!  When Johanna comes in, a so-called jewel, she startles me and frightens me.  Her stage entry,” continued Innstetten, imitating Johanna’s pose, “the half comical shapeliness of her bust, which comes forward claiming special attention, whether of mankind or me, I don’t know—­all this strikes me as so sad and pitiable, and if it were not so ridiculous, it might drive me to suicide.”

“Dear Innstetten, are you going to assume the duties of a permanent secretary in this frame of mind?”