e in the current coin of
the country, is really a contemptible business, and enough to disgust
one with the whole trade. I've been called in on such occasions four
times, and amid all the rubbing and manipulating, have always wished my
efforts might be vain."

"I hope this time, you'll--"

"You need have no anxiety. The professional spirit is stronger than
philosophy or humanity. _Tiat experimentum et pereat mundus_, that's in
this case: _vivat_ a poor creature who has nothing to live for, but
every reason to curse existence. Christiane! Have you any suspicion
what induced her to do this? To be sure, we ought to remember that she
has a fancy for taking French leave of pleasant company. Is anything
known of her circumstances? An unhappy love affair? But you're like the
statue of the Commandant!"

"Pardon me if I'm a poor substitute for the society you've just left,"
faltered Mohr. "I--my nerves are no longer the strongest; this has
taken a violent hold upon me; between ourselves, Marquard, this girl,
who seemed by no means attractive to the rest of you, _I_ loved very
dearly."

"My poor boy!" murmured the physician, as in the darkness he took
Mohr's cold hand and pressed it gently. Then no more was said. Mohr
threw himself back in one corner of the carriage and buried his face in
his handkerchief. When they alighted at the timber-yard, Marquard saw
that it was flushed and wet with tears.

The little artist was standing at the open door of the housel "At
last!" he exclaimed. "We're nearly dead with anxiety and impatience.
However there really seems to be some hope. Leah thinks she's beginning
to breathe. Turn to the right, if you please. We've laid her on my bed
in the studio."

"Stay outside, Heinrich," said Marquard, "and I don't need the young
lady either. I shall manage better alone." He gave a few directions,
said a soothing word to Leah, who was gazing at him with a strangely
intent expression, like that of a somnambulist, and then proceeded to
his difficult task.

The three were now once more together in the very room where, a few
hours before they had chatted so comfortably around the tea table. But
no one broke the silence. The artist had seated himself opposite to the
bust of his dead wife, and seemed to be questioning the mute features
about the eternal secret of life and death. Mohr, with his hands
crossed behind his back, paced restlessly up and down the room like a
caged lion, pausing at every doze