in getting a portrait of his ugly person from the painter, and, as far as I know, this is the only finished portrait in existence by Kietz.  On the other hand, he was very clever at making little sketches of any subject suggested by our conversation during the evening, and in these he displayed both originality and delicacy of execution.  During the winter of that year he completed a good pencil portrait of me, which he touched up two years afterwards when he knew me more intimately, finishing it off as it now stands.  It pleased him to sketch me in the attitude I often assumed during our evening chats when I was in a cheerful mood.  No evening ever passed during which I did not succeed in shaking off the depression caused by my vain endeavours, and by the many worries I had gone through during the day, and in regaining my natural cheerfulness, and Kietz was anxious to represent me to the world as a man who, in spite of the hard times he had to face, had confidence in his success, and rose smiling above the troubles of life.  Before the end of the year 1839, my youngest sister Cecilia also arrived in Paris with her husband, Edward Avenarius.  It was only natural that she should feel embarrassed at the idea of meeting us in Paris in our extremely straitened circumstances, especially as her husband was not very well off.  Consequently, instead of calling on them frequently, we preferred waiting until they came to see us, which, by the way, took them a long time.  On the other hand, the renewal of our acquaintance with Heinrich Laube, who came over to Paris at the beginning of 1840 with his young wife, Iduna (nee Budaus), was very cheering.  She was the widow of a wealthy Leipzig doctor, and Laube had married her under very extraordinary circumstances, since we last saw him in Berlin; they intended to enjoy themselves for a few months in Paris.  During the long period of his detention, while awaiting his trial, this young lady had been so touched by his misfortunes that without knowing much of him, she had shown great sympathy and interest in his case.  Laube’s sentence was pronounced soon after I left Berlin; it was unexpectedly light, consisting of only one year’s imprisonment in the town gaol.  He was allowed to undergo this term in the prison at Muskau in Silesia, where he had the advantage of being near his friend, Prince Puckler, who in his official capacity, and on account of his influence with the governor of the prison, was permitted to afford the prisoner even the consolation of personal intercourse.

The young widow resolved to marry him at the beginning of his term of imprisonment, so that she might be near him at Muskau with her loving assistance.  To see my old friend under such favourable conditions was in itself a pleasure to me; I also experienced the liveliest satisfaction at finding there was no change in his former sympathetic attitude.  We met frequently; our wives also became friends, and Laube was the first to approve in his kindly humorous way of our folly in moving to Paris.