In the hall Wilhelm and Paul had to distribute gratuities to the waiting servants, a custom (unknown in France and England) which dishonors German hospitality, and a minute later they found themselves outside in the starlit night.  It blew icy cold over the Thiergarten; across the darkness the snow-laden trees and the closely-cropped grass looked feebly white.  Wilhelm, shivering, wrapped himself in his fur coat.  Paul, on the other hand, did not seem to mind the cold; he was still too hot with the excitement of the evening.  The waltz rang so clearly in his ears that he could have danced over the snow-covered pavement, and the lights and mirrors of the ballroom shone so clearly before his eyes, and enveloped the dancers with such reality that the desert of the silent, faintly-lit Koniggratzer Strasse was alive as if by ghosts.  He recalled to his mind the whole evening, and in the fullness of his heart exclaimed, “Wilhelm, I hope never to forget this New Year’s Eve.”  Wilhelm looked at him astonished.  “I do not share in your feelings.  How can a glance at such vanity in thinking men give one any feeling except that of pity?”

“I am not hurt at the hardness of your judgment, because you don’t understand what I am saying.  You know very well I am not frivolous, and that I have learned long ago the seriousness of life.  But at the same time I value the entree into the best society of Berlin for what it is worth.  Now the opportunity has come, and I shall make it useful.”

“Paul, you grieve me.  A tuft-hunter talks like that.”

“What do you call a tuft-hunter?—­if you mean a man who does not want to hide his light under a bushel, I say yes, I am one, and I think that is entirely honorable.  I don’t want to get on by means of any false pretenses, but by honest work.  What is the use of capability if no one notices it?  If I can inspire the right people with this conviction, I am in luck.  There is no injustice in that.”

“I thought you had more pride.”

“Dear Wilhelm, don’t speak to me of pride.  That is all right for you.  If my father had left me a house in the Kochstrasse, I would snap my fingers at everyone, and go my own way, as it pleased me best.  Or put it the other way round, if you were the middle son in a Brandenburg family of nine, I tell you that you would attribute a certain importance to seeking the favor of influential people.  You would become as frivolous as I,” added he after a little pause, in which he gave a gentle clap on Wilhelm’s shoulder.

“You ought not to throw my father’s house in my teeth; you know how I live.”

Paul tried to interrupt him.

“Let me finish.  A man of your capability can nowadays allow himself the luxury of independence and manly self-reliance, even if he is one of the nine children of a poor farmer; if one has few wants, one is rich whatever one’s fortune.”

“That is all very well.  I know your philosophy of abnegation, and it is a matter of temperament.  I am not in favor of starving myself when there is a steaming dish before me.  The world is full of good things, and I have a taste for them; why should I not reach out my hand?”